Sic Gorgiamus Allos Subjectatos Nunc
by Shad Nemo Freud
Summary: What if the Dursleys hadn't raised Harry? What if more than one blasted prophecy had the poor boy at it's center? What if the Addamses were a cadet family of the Potters? What if you stopped and took a glance at this fic? Not for the faint of heart, or dull of wit. Dark!Harry, Evil!Dumbles, with possible odd pairings down the road. Rated 'M' just to be on the safe side.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: It should be readily apparent that this is a fan work, and that I in no way, shape, nor form own, nor hold any rights, to either the work of J.K. Rowling, nor the original works of Chas Adams, or whomever currently holds the rights to his works.

Shad Nemo Freud Proudly Presents Sic Gorgiamus Allos Subjectatos Nunc

a Crossover between the worlds of Harry Potter, and the Addams Family (snap snap)

Chapter One – The Serpent Hatches

A grey tabby watched as a horrid family made their way home. She stretched, arching her back to work out some of the soreness caused by watching a house, nearly motionless, for hours. _This_ family was to take care of the "savior" of the wizarding world? She rolled her green eyes in the darkness of the shadows, watching as the walrus of a man escorted his horse-faced wife and swine of a child to their door, the piglet squealing about sweets. The cat raised her paw in a rather human like gesture, attempting to pinch the bridge of her nose without the advantage of having thumbs.

'There are times I wish I'd been polydactyl,' Minerva McGonagall groused to herself, feeling a rather human headache coming on. 'If _anyone_ other than Albus confirmed the Potter child was the one that struck down…' She looked up, feeling that headache intensify as a very loud, very _illegal _flying motorcycle and sidecar came in for a landing, it's suspension creaking in a futile attempt to inform the rider that he may, in fact, have been too big for the infernal motorbike. Said rider, some eight feet tall, and six feet wide, was none other than the groundskeeper Minerva regularly visited in his hut in the break periods, whenever she wasn't trading barbs with Severus over a glass of Ogden's Finest, or meeting at Grimmauld place during their illicit Order meetings while battling against the forces of He Who Must Not Be Named. The cat silently jumped down from the wall and hissed at the great oaf to get his attention before shifting back to her human form, that of a raven-haired witch wearing black robes over her family tartans, a pair of pince-nez glasses on her nose.

"Hagrid, would you be ever so kind as to turn that infernal machine off? You'll likely wake the whole neighborhood."

"Sorry, Minerva. Brought along little Harry, as Dumbledore tol' me to. Got him in my pocket. Here we are. Now, about these muggles he's supposed to be with…"

Minerva removed her glasses, feeling every one of her years as she tried, again, to stave off the headache her day had caused. "I almost think senility must be finally catching up with the old Wizard, as the family he wants us to entrust with the wee bairn is about as useful as legs on a flobberworm. I've had the distinct displeasure of keeping an eye on them for the last few hours, and they seem to let their wee sprog run their lives, and he's nae much older than wee Harry!" She paused as the streetlights began to flicker out, one at a time. A man walking down the street had an old-fashioned cigarette lighter that he would occasionally point at the lampposts as he approached them, and the lights would flicker out, small orbs of light flying to the lighter. "Speak of the devil." Minerva said as the old Wizard, dressed in clothes with a selection of colors that made him look like Ray Charles had been his tailor, approached the pair, a faint smile peeking out of a long, wintry beard that would have been more at home on Father Christmas.

"Ah, Minerva! Hagrid! I see you found the right place."

"Albus," Minerva said, looking at the old Wizard askance, "you can't honestly think that that pair of muggles would be appropriate to raise a wee bairn of the Potter lineage? I can think of at least six Light families that would take him in in a heartbeat! Not to mention the fact that Sirius-,"

Minerva paused as Albus held up a hand to interject. "I'm afraid, my dear Minerva, that there is no alternative. The Potter's only known relatives are sadly across the Atlantic, and even they are a cadet branch. I believe you've heard of the Addams branch of the Potter Family?"

Minerva cringed slightly, recalling the day that Gomez Addams and that ghoulish brother of his had been sorted into her own house. Granted, that had been when she'd been a bonny lass of twenty, and only in her first year of teaching, but that pair of rascals had been an utter terror for the school to deal with, between Fester's adoration of muggle explosives (that she _still_ didn't know how he'd smuggled them into the school) to Gomez' fascination with a very pretty, if dour, Slytherin caused nothing but tension between both houses. Yet the pair had top marks throughout their years at the prestigious school, and it had been a relief when the pair went back to their ancestral home in the States. She tried not to laugh as she recalled thinking that a certain Potions teacher bore a striking resemblance to Morticia Addams nee Prince, his distant cousin, all except the hooked nose he'd inherited from his father while she sat at the head table during his sorting. She looked at Albus, shaking her head. "I almost think _they'd_ be a better choice than this pair of…of…"

"Troglodytes?" Hagrid offered, trying to be helpful. Minerva looked up at the half-giant with a look of surprise, then blinked, then nodded.

Albus sighed. "Sadly, it must be. Lily…the why of it is largely unimportant. Suffice to say, the boy will be protected here, by old family magics."

The skies darkened rapidly, rain and lightning, causing Hagrid to look up at the sky warily. Flying the monstrosity, he affectionately referred to a motorcycle was a dicey proposition to begin with, but those clouds looked like the harbingers of a terrible storm. He looked down at the tiny child in the basket in his mokeskin jacket, and startled. For the barest fraction of a second, the boys eyes seemed highly intelligent, had glowed red, and were staring at him malevolently. A flash of lightning blinded the half-giant for a moment, and when he looked back into his pocket, the boy seemed fast asleep, his lightning-bolt shaped wound angry and red. He carefully removed the basket and handed it over to Dumbledore. "Here yeh are Albus. I need the get goin before I end up caught up in that mess up there." He mounted his motorcycle, and sped off down the street, nearly taking off the sign as he rounded a corner. Luckily, the residents of Privet Drive hadn't seemed to notice.

Minerva shook her head as she watched Albus place the basket on the doorstep, with a _note_ of all things, and wondered just which movie from the depression era Albus had watched to hatch this particular hair-brained scheme. "Albus, shouldn't we have at least taken him to see Pomona? That wound is going to turn into an ugly scar if we do nothing for him.",

Albus shook his head. "Too many chances for someone to find him now. And, there is little Pomona can do for the boy now. That wound will likely become a curse scar. But, not to worry, scars caused by magic can be rather useful at times. I myself still have a scar on my knee that's a perfect map of the London Underground." Dumbledore chuckled as he cast his eyes upward. "Odd weather, but not uncommon. This _is_ a rather auspicious night, after all."

Minerva nodded as she looked at the old man in thought. "Albus, did Harry truly kill…well, you know who?"

Albus shook his head sadly. "Despite appearances, and the rather cavalier way the wizarding public is celebrating Voldemort's death, I can't say for certain. I've the feeling we haven't seen the last of our snake-faced adversary. We should keep an eye out for the signs that he may return."

As the pair made their way back down the street, Albus relighting the lamps as they made their way to the agreed upon apparition point, the storm continued to gain strength, lightning striking nearby the small sleepy neighborhood, finally knocking the power out, and casting the entirety of Little Whinging in darkness. For several long, stifling moments, figures moved in the darkness, unseen by the locals, until a bolt of lightning struck one of the lampposts on the street, and an antique limousine appeared as the lights and power were restored. A black 1935 Rolls Royce Limousine, in fact, with an open-air driver's compartment. The driver looked reminiscent of Boris Karloff; tall, gaunt, his face more at home upon a shambling corpse than a chauffeur. He groaned as he exited the car, his long, ponderous gait taking him to the back of the car as he opened the door for his passengers, a middle-aged man in a stripped three piece suit, with coal black hair slicked back from his widows peak to the back of his head, an immaculately manicured pencil moustache resting just above a manic grin, and coal black eyes that did little to hide the madness behind his charming face. The man held out his hand, helping a drop-dead (literally, in the case of some of the men that tended to admire her beauty near open manholes) gorgeous, willowy woman with hair darker than pitch and eyes to match, slide out of her seat."

"Lurch, old man, is this the residence of our…_foreign_ relatives?"

The Chauffer, Lurch, rolled his eyes upward as he groaned, raising his stiff arm to point at the house. Number four Privet drive. "Capital! Well, no point drawing things out. Keep an eye on the car, old man. Make sure little Wednesday stays in her bassinette. I swear, the way she chews through the ropes, it'll be no time at all before we'll need to chain the thing shut."

Lurch nodded slowly, groaning as he pulled out a spiked baby rattle to amuse the tiny infant that lay in the miniature iron maiden on the back seat, the doors shaking ominously as if the contents wanted to escape.

"Gomez, darling…," Moriticia murmured as her dress swept the sidewalk, obscuring her feet, "Must we actually speak to these…_relatives_ of yours? They seem so…_cheerful_. It's appalling that anyone should allow them to raise a child, much less an Addams by blood."

Gomez chuckled as he lit a match, using it to light one of his ever-present Buck cigars. "No getting around it, Tish. However odd and uncouth their customs may be, they're _family_. Even if none of them in this house…well, aside from Harry, of course…have a drop of magical potential in their whole bodies. Hello, what's this?" Gomez stooped down to lift a small blanket, and saw a small boy, no older than Wednesday, in a disgustingly comfortable little basket lined with warm, fuzzy blankets, in garishly bright colors. He grabbed the note attached, and the seal flared to life, the symbol of a Phoenix recoiling in horror from his hand as the wax melted, breaking the seal as the red wax turned black, and seeped onto the ground, bubbling ominously as it tried to eat its way through a paving stone. "Hmm…ah HA!" Gomez said, reading the letter aloud to his hauntingly beautiful wife. "It's addressed to Petunia, and that rogue of a husband of hers. Let's see…this _is_ Harry, so that makes things a bit easy…take care of him? I think we will instead. Ah, Dumbledore, I remember that schemer. A shame he ended up defeating old Grindles, he was a marvelous billiards player."

The lights inside the house came on, and the door opened, revealing a fat, red faced man wielding a cricket bat and wearing blue and white striped pyjamas. "Now look here, you freaks, we don't want any…oh no." Vernon said, his flushed face suddenly becoming paler than his white-washed picket fence. It was Petunia's relatives, the odd ones from the states, with the terrible taste in…well, everything. He looked outside, to make sure none of the neighbors were looking, then looked Gomez squarely in the eye, speaking to him in a hushed, but aggressive tone. "Just what the blazes do you want, Addams? We've already told you we don't want any of your _freakishness_ around here! We don't want your money, we just want to be left alone!"

Petunia looked over her husband's immense bulk and nodded. "Our little Dudley has no need of your brand of crazy…Uncle Gomez, and as such…oh please, just tell us what you want, and _go away!"_

Gomez' eyes widened slightly as his nostrils flared for a moment, his insane grin threatening to split his face in half before he took a long drag on his cigar, and blew the smoke out through his nose, causing both the Dursleys to grimace as they wafted the smoke away from their faces. "What we want, _old bean_, is to take little Harry here," he said, handing Vernon the note from Dumbledore, "and take him home with us, where he'll live with a _real_ Wizarding family."

Vernon's beady eyes scrunched up in confusion for a long moment, then began to read the note. His face became redder by the word, and Gomez watched eagerly, wondering if the man would build up enough steam to pop like an over-ripened tomato. Finally, Vernon ripped the letter to shreds, and threw the scraps into the fireplace. "By all means, _Addams_, take the little freak before your madness infects this house! Take him and leave."

A strange tingling energy filled the air as the blood wards surrounding number 4, Privet drive, rose out of the grass, and disappeared. They ended up reappearing over a grand, if dilapidated, estate at 21 Chester Place in Los Angeles, nestling in comfortably with the other wards that surrounded the mansion and it's various death traps, bottomless pits, abandoned wells, and the rather oddly placed swamp that served as the family's swimming hole. The Addams ancestral home.

Back in Little Whinging, Vernon and Petunia shuddered as they felt some form of odd power leave the home. "You've got the little swot, so be on your way! And never darken our door again!" Vernon said before he went to slam the door, then thought better of it, and closed the door as forcefully, yet quietly as possible.

Gomez and Morticia stared at the door for a long moment, then looked at each other with amused looks on their faces, and Gomez lifted the small basket, offering Morticia his other arm. "Shall we head home, Cara Mia?"

Morticia smiled demurely. "Oui, mon cher."

Gomez eyes lost their madness for a moment as a rather lecherous smile graced his features. 'Why Tish, that's French! You know what you do to me when you talk like that!" Morticia inclined an elegant eyebrow as her smile became less demure, and more predatory. The two made their way to the car as the storm began taking a turn for the worst, and lighting arced down from the sky as Lurch held open the door, a larger bolt of lightning striking the rose bushes at #4 Privet Drive as he closed the passenger door, and got behind the wheel, groaning as e lights went out for miles, once more, and when they came back on a few long, suffocating moments later, the car was gone.

In his study back at Hogwarts, Dumbledore felt an icy finger slide down his spine, as though someone had stepped over his grave. He immediately consulted the various baubles and gubbins, most of which monitored young Harry. All seemed to be in working order, which meant that the boy was hale and healthy, and that the blood wards were intact. He relaxed in his chair. So long as the boy lived, he had hopes about his own future, and the legacy he had to maintain.

The Headmaster of Hogwarts opened a drawer and withdrew a prophecy orb. He knew they could be _very_ dangerous if they fell into the wrong hands, but this one concerned the boy, himself, and Voldemort. A ghastly voice wheezed out of the orb as he held it.

"_As light falls, Darkness shall rise. Blood of the covenant shall prove thicker than the water of birth, and a snake shall hatch on a stormy night. A dark hand shall nurture the snake, and that snake shall strike out at the light, plunging it into darkness. But, heed well the warnings of Pandora: Some boxes were not meant to be opened. When the snake bites it's own tail, magic shall reveal the evils within the heart of the four pillars of a Highland Castle; three shall remain a golden number, by three, and three again shall be of silver when the power of the keeper of Life shall finally know all._

"_The Heirlooms of the Peverells shall at last find their way to their true master, and shall herald in the end of an era, and the birth on one anew. Be wary, for the world shall not be as it was, and traditions long held inviolate shall come crashing to the ground, burning as they fall, with the innocent to bear witness."_

Dumbledore glared at the crystal orb as it's inner light dimmed, returning to its dormant state. While it was obviously relevant to the coming battle with Tom, he was unsure just what part the lad would play in _this_ particular prophecy. The one that drunken slag Trelawney had gasped out just before he'd planned to put her out on her ear as a fraud had been heard by his double agent, Severus, and he'd barely nabbed the young man before he could escape. He'd planned to hire the young Death Eater anyways, to be able to keep an enemy close by, but that opportunity that had dropped into his lap was simply _too_ good to pass up. A chance to twist a young man into his service, and gain full access to the Potter wealth, to fund his war chest? Dumbledore sighed wearily. With his skills as both and Occlumens, _and_ a Legilimens, Severus's mind had proven resilient, even unconscious, and difficult to alter. Not, however, impossible. It had taken six turns of his time turner, but he'd gotten what he wanted. He'd altered Severus' memories just enough to make him think he'd only heard part of the prophecy, that he and Lily were still on poor terms, and that he had a blazing hatred for the last Scion of the Moste Ancient and Moste Noble house of Potter.

It had led to Severus running off to Voldemort rather than to warn the Potters. After all, Severus _had _forgiven James at the wedding, due to James saving his hide from the little "prank" Dumbledore had orchestrated by planting the idea in Sirius Black's head to send Severus to the Shrieking shack on a full moon. A life debt then owed, and an apology made to Lily for his vile little epithet. Not that Dumbledore cared who called who a mudblood; blood politics were largely beneath him, unless the family practicing their hate was aligned to the dark, like the Mulcibers, the Malfoys, or…he cringed as he tried to shy away from a memory that kept clawing it's way to the forefront of his mind. That of his erstwhile lover hovering over him with the Elder Wand, begging him to "see reason", and understand that what Gellert had done was truly for the greater good.

Unfortunately for Grindlewald, the .45 caliber derringer Albus had secured up his sleeve had been just as effective as a piercing hex, and the main reason the current, and sole prisoner of Nurmengard did little more than stare at the ceiling as he drooled, essentially brain dead, a long healed over scar marring the left side of his forehead. It would have been a mercy to end his life, but spurned lovers as vicious as Albus Bloody Dumbledore were slow to forgive. Gellert had chosen his little war, to subjugate the muggles, and left Albus alone, and heartbroken. In return, he'd turned that beautiful man into a vegetable. After all, it _was_ for the Greater Good.

He looked up as Minerva entered his office, and he smiled as he offered her one of the ever-present sweets from his candy bowl. "Sherbet Lemon?"

And, as usual, she declined. He looked at her over his half-moon spectacles. "Something troubles you, Minerva?"

She nodded. "Why couldn't we have raised him here? I would have been happy to. Or, well…Sirius is his Godfather! Why didn't you let him take the wee bairn?"

Dumbledore's eyes took on a dark cast for a moment. The compulsion charms he'd placed upon the deputy headmaster seemed to be wearing off sooner and sooner these days. It appeared he'd need to take more drastic measures. After all, she was one of his staunchest, if reluctant, supporters. She'd told him, time and again, that he'd spread himself too thin with all his duties, and he was growing tired of using kid's gloves while handling the harridan. His wand shot into his hand, and he hit her with a petrification curse under the desk, shooting her in the foot.

"My dear, I'm afraid I must give you a bit…stronger conditioning than before. I can't have you questioning my orders any longer. I do apologize, Minerva, but there is too much at stake for me to allow you to continue to flaunt your free will. Voldemort _will_ return, and I only feel comfortable telling you that because you won't remember." He pointed his wand at Minerva's forehead as she glared at him with a venomous look full of hatred and betrayal. "Now, don't fight me, or I may end up damaging you. After all, Severus did used to have an occasional smile. _Legilimens!_"

Within her own mind, she felt a soft, calming balm settle onto her frayed nerves. She didn't know why she'd questioned Albus…he was the leader of the light, after all. A phoenix chose him as a familiar, and they never choose evil people. All that mattered was…was…all that mattered was protecting the most people. All that mattered was ensuring the Greater Good was unimpeded, and that Voldemort was defeated.

She shook her head, and smiled at Albus, making her way out of the Headmaster's office. She felt tears running down her face and couldn't for the life of her figure out why. Exhaustion, she thought to herself as she wiped away a small trickle of blood coming from her nose. A good night's rest was all she needed. Besides, it was high time she took over more of the Headmaster's duties, as he was a busy man, being the Supreme Mugwump, the Chief Warlock, and the Headmaster of Hogwarts, not to mention the Leader of the Order of the Phoenix and, therefore, the Leader of the light. The man that sought to ensure the Greater Good of all was maintained.

All thoughts of Harry were forgotten as she entered her office, and saw Severus sitting in his customary chair, two glasses and a bottle of Ogden's waiting for her. Funny, she didn't _think_ it was Saturday. She could have sworn it was Thursday. She shrugged, and poured them each a glass of fire whiskey, and toasted each other as they spoke of their shared past time: Quidditch.

To be continued

Author's notes:

Hello, all! I will try to maintain a weekly update schedule for this story. I sat at karaoke, on a Tuesday night, well into my fifth Gin and Tonic when I had the idea to write this particular little tale. I know that at times, some details may not be 100% accurate, and I simply ask that you bear with me as I write this story.

For those of you scratching your head about the Addams Family Estate, I chose Los Angeles because that's where the original house from the 1964 series (staring John Astin and Carolyn Jones) was filmed. Certain aspects from the TV show, and the Burton movies shall come together in an amalgamation of the characters. After all, while Jackie Coogan did a marvelous job, Christopher Lloyd will always be Fester to me, just as Raul Julia will always be Gomez.

Please feel free to leave your comments below! I enjoy feedback from my readers. That said, if all you seek to heap upon me is abuse, know that I'm armed with a vicious pen, and you may end up in one of my stories, in a less than pleasant light. You've been warned.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note:

Wow! In less than a day, I had a rather glowing level of approval from the various readers out there that decided to look at my inaugural work here on Fanfiction .net.

Truly, I feel humbled that anyone was willing to give this a look, and it's spurring me on to go ahead and give you good folks another chapter just a day after the first.

To answer a few questions, yes, I do plan on updating regularly. After today, I will do my best to post every Friday, to kick off everyone's weekend with a bit of darkness, macabre humor, and even a death or two!

This will certainly _not_ be a fic that shies away from the human condition, nor will it be a necessarily happy one. To answer another question, McGonagall's memories will eventually return, but I _had_ to try and explain away why she turned a blind eye towards the horrid things that would have happened to Harry. As an educator, and a woman tasked with caring for children, it always bothered me that she never really questioned Dumble's more idiotic schemes.

Harry will, by dint of being raised by the Addamses, be more intelligent than he would have been if he'd been forced to dumb himself down by the Dursleys. And have no fear, I have plans for them as well. Muwahahahaha.

Disclaimer: It should be readily apparent that this is a fan work, and that I in no way, shape, nor form own, nor hold any rights, to either the work of J.K. Rowling, nor the original works of Chas Adams, or whomever currently holds the rights to his works.

Enough. With no further ado…

Shad Nemo Freud Proudly Presents Sic Allos Subjectatos Nunc

a Crossover between the worlds of Harry Potter, and the Addams Family (snap snap)

Chapter Two: The Serpent's First Slithering

Harry: Age 2

Morticia smiled as Wednesday toddled after her cousin with a chef's knife from the kitchen. It was always wonderful to see the two at play, and she looked forward to the day that the wretched little parasite currently using her intestinal tract as a treadmill would be born and come to wreak havoc upon his older sister. She rubbed her distended belly as she watched Harry fall on his face, inadvertently dodging the twelve-inch blade as it whistled through the air where his neck had been, and the little Potter scampered away on his hands and knees giggling like an imp. Wednesday's eyes betrayed her annoyance while her face remained passive, and she began toddling after the wild-haired boy again as they played their own version of tag. The rules were simple: don't get hit.

Morticia's crimson lips curled upward as she smelled the vile concoctions grandmama was brewing in the kitchen (which made her morning sickness flare up terribly) as the old crone cackled while her dear Gomez read aloud the obituaries. Apparently, there had been a fire at the old nursing home some miles down the road, and the average age of the bone page, as grandmama called it, had gone up noticeably. If it weren't for the fact that dear Uncle Fester had been missing since his ill-fated graduation trip to study voodoo in the Caribbean, she would have sworn her dear brother-in-law was behind it.

She sighed, trying not to think of "could have beens" as she felt the newest member of the family tug at the hem of her dress. She looked down, and saw little Harry staring up at her, a sweet smile on his face as he held up a small adder that had somehow made its way into the house from the ophidiarium. Normally, such a morsel would likely have ended up in the witches' brew they referred to as Grandmama's Goulash, but this little one seemed to have taken a shine to their tiny cousin, for it nuzzled up against Harry's cheek as he reached up to Morticia to be held. She smiled at the little monster as she picked him up, unknowingly stymying the crude Rube Goldberg device Wednesday had assembled, a crossbow bolt hurtling past where Harry's kidneys would have been if he hadn't been picked up, and narrowly missing Thing as he dropped flat to the floor to avoid the lethal projectile.

Despite missing again, Wednesday was determined. She was clearly a brilliant child, already killing at an eight-year-old level, but the intruder in their home seemed blessed by Entropy itself, impossibly protecting him by chance. She pouted this time, and toddled off to go see if Ichabod, the family's ill-tempered Whomping Willow wanted to play.

Harry giggled as he stroked his pet snake while he sat on Morticia's lap, the tiny black snake's tongue tickling Harry's hand. Morticia's long fingers gently stroked the boy's wild hair, and he leaned upward into her hand, babbling happily as he cuddled his little snake. Morticia's smile faltered, however, when she heard the little adder begin hissing at Harry, and a confused frown fell upon the tot's chubby face before he hissed back, surprising both Morticia and the snake. All sounds in the house came to a stop, save for the bubbling in the cauldron, as Gomez and Grandmama poked their heads out of the kitchen.

"Tish…did…did Harry just say his first words?" Gomez asked as he lit up a fresh cigar. The proud smile on Morticia's face answered him as a single tear slid down her face. The boy was an Addams for sure! After all, very few magical families in Europe had the potential to speak parseltongue, but the _entire_ Addams clan had the ability, along with an incredible resistance to toxins.

Morticia's smile as she held the little boy close was abnormally dark. The little man in her lap had called her his _auntie._

(snap snap)

Harry: Age 2.5

Hermione Granger's parents were terrified of their odd child. At first, they'd been incredibly proud of their little girl, who had mastered crawling at only a few months old. At six months, she could talk. At two, she'd already started reading picture books. But this, this most recent episode of oddness in their lives? It took the cake. Their three-year-old had apparently decided that overachieving wasn't good enough, and had learned how to break the laws of physics, giggling loudly as she reached for the brightly colored blocks that now floated over her head, moving them without touching them to read "Hello Mummy and Daddy!"

Daniel and Beatrice Granger had both looked for wires, fishing line, anything that would explain the floating blocks. It had almost been…magic…and both were, justifiably, frightened. The pair were dental surgeons, for Christ's sake! They lived in a world of science, of the material, not the fantastic! "She gets it from your side of the family," Dan said as he held a beaker of tea in his shaking hands, trying to calm his nerves as he debated adding something stronger to his drink, "after all, _your_ uncle Phillip was a stage magician."

"Illusionist! It was all smoke and mirrors!" Beatrice sniped back, deciding to skip the pretense and simply pour herself three fingers of scotch, neat. "I could probably do most of his tricks myself! But _this_? You can't be serious, Dan. There's no way it's possible!" There was a knock at the door, and they stared at the portal to the outside world in abject terror. Perhaps one of their nosier neighbors had heard the commotion, and looked in the window? Maybe it was men in black vans, come to take their family away because their sweet Hermione Jean had been swapped at birth with some form of changeling, and the government was here to cover it up? Daniel grabbed a five iron out of his golf bag and hid it behind his back as he went to answer the door. He looked out the peephole and saw an elderly man in an odd tweed suit. Odd, because it was a particularly bright shade of violet, rather than the more common colors, such as anything _not_ violet. He cautiously opened the door, and the wintry bearded man smiled kindly at the beleaguered dentist.

"Good morning. Daniel Granger, correct? May I come inside? It concerns your daughter. Oh, and you shan't be needing the five iron. Really, a seven would have been more appropriate if I were here to harm you." The old man's half-moon glasses glinted in the morning light, but for just a moment, he could have sworn the old man's eyes were twinkling. He shook his head, then undid the security chain, and allowed the old man entry. "I do apologize for coming by so early, but as you're both, ah, _non-magical , _I felt it prudent to come and explain a few things."

Daniel's eyes settled into a half-lidded stare of incredulity. "Magic. Right. Like my daughter could possibly be, what, some kind of wizard?"

"Witch, actually. But that's a matter of semantics, really. Also, where are my manners? I sometimes forget that people in the non-magical world have no idea whom I am. My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I am the Headmaster of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I happened to be in the area because, I must confess, I have a bit of a sweet tooth for the candies your people tend to make. None of the chocolatiers in Hogsmeade of Diagon Alley seem to even know what they are."

Daniel paused. "Diagon…you mean to say you have a magical…city, I suppose would be the proper term, and one of the streets is named _diagonally?_ I suppose you've got a Dirun Alley too, then?"

"Knockturn Alley, actually. Diurn Alley is in the States." Dumbledore said, chuckling. "I know, some of the wizards in charge of naming things have a terrible habit of using puns for things. As far as your daughter is concerned, the fact that she is exhibiting accidental magic at her age. Stupendous!"

Daniel looked at his wife, and back at Dumbledore. "So, this is normal then?"

Dumbledore nodded, "Among magical children, this sort of thing isn't unheard of, although most children don't exhibit accidental magic until they're at least five. She will be a worthy addition to the school when she turns…ah, my apologies, but her birthday is on September nineteenth, correct?"

Emma nodded, looking at Dumbledore slightly askance. "Why? Does it matter?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Most first years come to Hogwarts at the age of eleven, when their…the term we tend to use is 'magical core', or the source of their magic. It tends to stabilize enough for children to start learning how to cast spells around their eleventh birthday. Unfortunately, since your daughter's birthday is after the first day of classes, she will have to wait a year to attend."

Daniel looked at Emma. "So…they have a special school just for magic users? What's the curriculum like?"

Dumbledore smiled. He'd set the hook, and now it was simply time to reel the child into his clutches when she came of age. Molded properly, and guided down the right path, she would prove a perfect tool to help him get the Boy-Who-Lived under his thumb and keep him there. Now, all he had to do was make sure he would have proper access to the child.

Time to charm the parents.

(snap snap)

Harry: Age eight

Ronald Weasley glared at the tiny bed that held his equally tiny little sister. Seven generations of Weasleys, and the slight, slip of a waif was the first _girl_ in the family. He fought the urge to snarl, an odd impulse in one so young, as he went to the room he shared with his older brother, Percy. The twins, little hellions that they were, had already started to show their latent prankster edge. Charlie spent most of his time studying animal husbandry and dragon lore, seeking to know more about the big lizards he was so damned obsessed over. Bill's door stayed closed most of the time now, and he never had time for his youngest brother, not even when he had the weekend off from hi new job at Gringotts. But Ginny, that little swot, had his eldest brother wrapped around her finger.

Ron couldn't possibly have known this, but the fertility experiments that the Weasley Matriarch had subjected herself to had borne fruit in _all_ her children. In the oldest, an almost instinctual skill with runes, arithmancy, and enchanting: his destiny as a crack curse breaker at Gringotts was all but assured. Charlie had an unnatural affinity for dragons, and all other reptiles for that matter. Percy, a genius when it came to loopholes, politicking, and acquiring influence and power. The twins? The less said about their future the better, but one could almost see the sign now where Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes would someday replace the Zonko's Joke shop in Diagon Alley.

Ron, on the other hand? His fate was unbound. He was highly intelligent, sure, and an expert tactician…but, where strength and virility came easily to his other brothers, he was a bit weak, almost sickly. Which was why the boy was glaring at his _precious _baby sister, the final product of Molly Weasley's experimentation in wizarding eugenics. Ron fought the urge to grab a pillow and smother his six-year-old sister in her bed, fought the urge to choke the life out of the little moppet. Because, he was sure, he was expendable. The sixth son. He'd been slipping into the other boy's rooms and had begun reading their books. At four, he'd already understood complex subjects, at six had almost figured out several advanced wand techniques, and at eight could easily beat any of his relatives at Wizarding Chess. He was a child prodigy. And yet, his little sister got _all_ the attention. He left his sister's room in a huff, and went outside, his parents having long gone to bed.

He was considering picking the locks on the broom shed when he heard a quiet pop and looked to see an old wizard at the very edge of the wards. An old wizard he'd seen in Bill's book _Hogwarts, a History_. The old man approached the wards carefully, and pulled out a small, odd little device that he used for some unknown purpose. He then looked up, and smiled as his eyes met Ron's

"Ronald Weasley, correct?"

Ron was well past the point of falling victim to stranger danger already but failed to understand just _why_ the old wizard was at the Burrow in the dead of the night. He kept his distance but nodded. "Yeth thir." He lisped and cursed the loss of his front teeth due to George tirpping him down the stairs for some perceived slight. His mother had placed a couple sickles under his pillow and taken the teeth and promised to take the boy to get candy the next time the family went to the Alley. Percy was holding onto them for safe keeping, and thus far, the twins hadn't tried to steal them yet. Dumbledore smiled pleasantly and surreptitiously scanned the tiny redhead before him. The boy was well fed, but underweight, and would likely never grow to his full potential. But, had a brilliant mind, if a little on the twisted side.

Dumbledore pondered just how he was going to use the boy to achieve his goals. If he helped the boy now, it would draw unnecessary attention from Molly, and possibly strain his relationship with the family he'd planned to use as cannon fodder when the war came back to rear its ugly head. He shrugged internally. He had some years to crack that chestnut yet, and simply looked at the boy. "You are going to be a powerful wizard someday, Mr. Weasley. I make it a point of getting to know the best and brightest before they come to Hogwarts. Tell me, young man, which house do you hope to get into?"

Ronald eyed the old man critically. This had to be some kind of trick. Luckily, the Burrow's wards had been put together by his late uncles and were immensely powerful. What the family lacked in wealth, they more than made up for in resourcefulness. Even Dumbledore wouldn't chance being a target for the more horrific wards on the Weasley estate, such as it was. "I wath thinking of Thlytherin. Houthe of the ambi, ambith-,"

"Ambitious?" Dumbledore asked helpfully.

"That one." Ron said, still eyeballing the Headmaster of his future school.

Dumbledore nodded. He'd need to convince the boy that Gryffindor was a better house, but that could wait. "Well see when the time comes, young mister Weasley. I'm afraid I must go now, but we'll talk again the next time I come by." He cast the _tempus_ spell and saw the time. He nodded at the young wizard, and apparated away. Ron stared at the spot the Headmaster had been and shrugged. It was past his bedtime anyways.

(snap snap)

Several hundred miles away, Dumbledore appeared outside of St. Mungos, pulled out a strange, shimmery cloak from his pocket, and slipped it on while he waited for someone to open the door. He stealthily slipped into the hospital, quietly made his way to the Permanent Damage ward, and snuck into the room of two of the most decorated Aurors of the last war, both having received the Order of Merlin, Second Class for their heroic efforts. The medals were given "posthumously" because the pair had been cursed into insanity by the LeStranges. Dumbledore looked down at Alice and Frank Longbottom and sneered. If he hadn't made the fragment of the prophecy so vague, the deatheaters wouldn't have attacked both houses in the same night, though in the case of the Longbottoms, Dumbledore had convinced Alice and Frank to have little Neville spend time with his Grandmother, as they were supposed to attack a "suspected" Death Eater hide out later that night. Of course, the LeStranges got to them first, and the rest was history.

What nobody knew, however, was that _he_ had ensured both sets of parents would be unable to raise their children. The Potters due to Voldemort's wrath, and the Longbottoms due to his own treachery. Both boys fulfilled the requirements for the prophecy, and he'd gone out of his way to ensure they'd grow up broken, ready to be forged into the weapons he needed them to be. Which was why he regularly applying an alchemical mixture that kept them mentally impaired. His plan was, should the Potter brat prove useless, to give them the antedote, and reunite the family, insinuating himself into the boy's good graces, and earning his undying loyalty. So long at the mixture held out, the pair would remain in their semi-vegetative state. It was diabolical, he knew, and should Augusta ever find out what he'd done, would likely need to tangle with the old bag, a not so inconsiderable risk, as the old woman had been a champion duelist in her prime, and he had it on good authority that she could still take any of Tom's inner circle.

He produced the tincture from his pocket and dripped three drops each into their open mouths as they snored quiety. That would hold them for another few months. He smiled. His plans were coming along swimmingly.

(snap snap)

Harry: Age 11

Morticia looked up into the sky as Harry fled his cousin's newest attempts to murder him, firing bolt after bolt with that crossbow of hers while he dodged, ducked, and weaved his way through the various trees on the property while flying on his brand new Nimbus 1500 he'd gotten for his eleventh birthday while Wednesday chased him on a Clean Sweep six she planned on upgrading as soon as her own birthday came along, three weeks from then. While Wednesday's attempts to end her cousin's, life were a bit more half-hearted than they'd used to be, she kept trying to keep up with appearances. After all, Pugsley proved a far easier target, yet seemed to have inherited his uncle's unwillingness to die, and the family's ability to ignore all but the strongest toxins with the tenacity of a honey badger. Harry dove under Ichabod's playfully murderous attempt to unseat Harry with a vicious upswing, and Wednesday's eyes widened in surprise as the giant cudgel narrowly pulled back in time to keep from sending her careening in the opposite direction. She flew closer, and gently pat the tree on the nearest branch. "It's alright, Ichabod. I know you tried." The tree shuddered in disappointment, then the branch leaned out to gently nuzzle the odd girl before she flew to the ground, where Harry was waiting for her.

Harry stood with his broom and pulled out his box of cloves that Gomez had convinced him to start smoking. They were a particularly tasty brand, and he smiled as he offered her one. She declined as she handed over a Galleon. He pocketed the gold coin and shook his head. "Wednesday, my sweet, I told you my new broom was fast enough to close the gap before old Ichy could hit me. Poor thing's getting on in years, and it might be time to think about putting him out to stud."

His pet death adder, affectionately named Gan (short for Jormungandr) slid out of his collar and hissed grumpily. "_I swear, Harry, you've got the dumbest hobbies. If you were meant to fly, you would have had wings." _ The adder turned his nose up his tongue flicking this way and that as he tasted the air, "_I think that nest of robins had an accident. I can smell my lunch. Ta."_

Harry chuckled as the three-foot-long death adder he'd found as a toddler in the mansion's ophidiarium slid into the brown grass and made his way towards the chick that thrashed in the grass, closing in for the kill. While he watched, Wednesday smiled slightly as she slyly drew a straight razor from the back of her skirt, and slid forward, intent on cutting opne her seemingly unaware cousin.

The boy seemed to have eyes in the back of his head, as he bent down to tie his shoes the very moment she took a swing at him, then he stood up, accidentally catching her under the jaw with the back of his head, and ringing her bell. He looked down, and saw her laying on the grass, dazed. He quirked an eyebrow, shrugged, and picked up her broom to go put them away, puffing happily on his clove cigarette. Today they were all planning on going to the Black Magic Section of Sunset Boulevard, a known area where magic users in Los Angeles tended to spend their time. Granted, it was in a hidden part of the street, but "squibs" of magical families in the states had been responsible for the birth, and flourishing, of the motion picture industry. So, it made sense that Hollywood would spring up close to where so many magicals tended to hang out.

He was going to pick up some newbooks. Grandmama's library was extensive when it came to what the family considered necessities, such as curses, hexes, necromancy, and divination, but he wanted to branch out. He wanted to study up on the basic curriculum he'd be forced to take when he went to Ivermony when he turned eleven, to make sure he was ahead of his peers. After all, an Addams always sought to be the best he could be. Sure, his name was still _technically_ Potter, but the blood didn't lie, and he'd already found he could shrug off everything short of basilisk venom, and that was only because he hadn't tried the potent stuff yet. He saw Morticia and Gomez, the loving couple that had raised him as their own, and made his way over, stopping to wave at Lurch while he trimmed the branches on Ichabod's lower trunk. Lurch groaned loudly as he stiffly raised his arm, and Harry laughed. "I'll do my best, old man! But you know how hard it is to find catgut thread these days. I'd just find a few strays and make my own, but they got wise to me. I know they won't sound as good, but you could always string your violin with nylon, you know." Harry shrugged as he walked over to his foster parents. Gomez shielded his eyes as he heard a shrill cry, and one of the family vultures landed on Gomez' oustretched arm, lifting a leg to hand him a letter.

"What's this?" Gomez asked s he looked at a familiar seal, and guffawed. "Well, well! It appears the ban on our family has finally been lifted! Hogwarts will have an Addams or two under it's roof for the first time since…since…"

"You and Fester blew up the old Astronomy tower during graduation?" Morticia smiled, recalling the happy memory. Not only had they blown up the Tower but had set up landmines that spelled out Gomez' proposal of marriage to Morticia that also detonated when the first bits of masonry from the tower fell on the grounds. If they hadn't been graduating, they would have been expelled. In fact, they'd already been handed their diplomas, and Gomez had lit a fresh cigar when Fester had pulled out the detonator.

"Hey now, if I hadn't done that, you never would have agreed to carve your name in my thigh. What halcyon days those were. Now then, where was I…Ah, yes! It appears the board of Governors has finally agreed to give into their greed, accept my ludicrous bribe, and allow Wednesday to attend with Harry! I had a good feeling about that Malfoy fellow. Kind of reminds me of good old Tully, but much better at being a swindler." He looked over at Harry, "Sorry champ, but I'm afraid you'll just have to help your cousin remind them why we were banned in the first place! Maybe you can try for Ivermony afterwards."

Harry shrugged. It was going to be fun going to a magical school, and from what he heard, Hogwarts was a dreary, wet, and cold place most of the year, only giving way to disgusting sunshine and unfortunately pleasant weather for a few months. He looked forward to getting away from sunny California for a few years. Granted, it did seem as though a permanent thundercloud hung over the estate, but it did clear out occasionally. 'Can't have all the fun', as Gomez would say. Harry looked at the ground, and saw his favorite snake looking up at him. "_What's the matter, Gan? Did that baby robin get away?"_

Gan shook his head, sadly. "_Much as I would love to go with you, Harry, Scotland's a bit cold for me. Be sure to write me, would you? I'm sure one of the Addamses can read it to me."_

Harry frowned. He hadn't considered that. "_I'll be sure to bring you some juicy rats from the castle then. After all, it's always best to try new foods from foreign countries Never know what new and exciting diseases you'll pick up that way."_

To be continued

Author's notes:

I know this one kinda went all over the place, chronologically. I just wanted to set up some plots for further down the road, rather than simply write him up as going to Hogwarts.

Fester hasn't come back yet, that'll come later (not unlike the original film).

Hope you guys keep reading. Your comments and continued patronage motivate me to keep this going!

Until next week!


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note: Hello faithful readers! I do apologize for the late update, but life has a filthy habit of ruining plans. I'll try to do better next week. Anywho, as of writing this, I've noticed that I've gotten about 400 views so far for this story, and I'm absolutely touched that so many of you decided to give it a look, and an astounding number of you decided to follow this little fic, to rabidly assault the words on the screen as soon as they come into the world, cold, scared, and innocent, to be slaughtered and mercilessly devoured by your predatory eyes.

…That went to a weird place for a moment. Anyways, as always, feel free to leave a comment. If you have an idea for the story, don't hesitate to put it forth into the aether. I may not choose to use said idea, but if I do, I'll mention it in the Author's notes at the end of the chapter.

Disclaimer: It should be readily apparent that this is a fan work, and that I in no way, shape, nor form own, nor hold any rights, to either the work of J.K. Rowling, nor the original works of Chas Adams, or whomever currently holds the rights to his works.

And so, with no further ado…

Shad Nemo Freud Proudly Presents Sic Allos Subjectatos Nunc

a Crossover between the worlds of Harry Potter, and the Addams Family (snap snap)

Chapter Three: Entering the Snake Pit

Hagrid looked down at Vernon Dursley with an almighty glower. Little angered the gentle giant, but the tone he was receiving from the miniature walrus in front of him was seriously trying his patience. He didn't have much time, as the illicit egg in his home needed constant heating, and he wasn't sure if the small bonfire he'd erected outside would last if this blithering idiot didn't start talking. "Look Dursley, all I wanna know is where yeh got little Harry squirreled away. Hogwarts sen' 'im 'is letter, an' he already responded. So, where is the sprog? Dumbledore-,"

Vernon's pinnipedal bellow cut through the giant's measured words. "I've been trying to tell you, you giant twat, the little freak isn't here! Those…_Addamses_ took him the night you dropped him here on my doorstep without any warning. Best the little freak stayed with his own kind I say. An example _you_ should look to. Not get off my property, you're lowering the property value."

Hagrid's eye gleamed angrily as he prepared to risk breaking the statute of secrecy until a single word blasted its way through his towering wrath like a rail gun. "…Didja say…_Addamses?"_ Hagrid asked with a look of dawning horror upon his face.

"That's right. The freak's other relatives came and picked him up, during a freakish lightning storm that burned down half our house. The insurance adjusters were almost unwilling to pay off the damages, trying to call it an act of God, or some such nonsense. I finally browbeat them into paying up. That's the only way to handle people like them. Stiff upper lip, and never back down."

Hagrid nodded unconsciously as he pondered this new bit of information. The Addamses. Raised. Harry. He rubbed his face as Vernon continued blithering on about the superiority of the working man, how being normal was keen, and that freaks with odd hair, facial piercings, and tattoos should all be gathered up and sent elsewhere. Especially the disgusting practitioners of magic. Hagrid walked away from the Dursley patriarch slowly, not paying attention to where he was going, and failed to hear Vernon screaming at him as he walked through Petunia's prized roses, crushing the bushes underfoot before pressing onward, and flattening the picket fence as well as he made his way back to his motorcycle. A passing lorry, the driver adjusting the radio, missed the behemoth of a man walking into the street, and was utterly astounded when the man punched the lorry in frustrated wrath, stopping the truck cold, and causing the driver's airbag to knock him out. The large, fist shaped hole in the grille, as well as the smashed engine, gave Vernon pause as Hagrid looked dumbly at his fist, the truck, and the mess he'd made in anger. "Oh, bugger." Hagrid said as he looked around, caved in the front end of the truck a bit better, then picked up the front end, and lined it up with one of the street posts. He set the truck back down, went to the back, and gave the lorry a mighty shove, causing the damage to look like the distracted driver had lost control and crashed into something.

Unfortunately, that something was the lamp post in front of the rose bushes that lined the now badly damaged picket fence that marked the property line of Number Four, Privet Drive. And, as one might expect, the lamp post offered up as much resistance as a sand castle to the ocean, causing the several ton truck to crash into the house, and try to join the Dursleys as they tried, in vain, to get back to their breakfast. The lorry deciding to join them at the table rather ruined the English Breakfast they'd been stuffing into their gullets, and beans, sausages, eggs, grilled tomatoes, and toast points flew across the room as the sound of a motorcycle starting up was drowned out by shattering glass, splintering wood, and the terrified screams of the Dursleys as they narrowly survived having a truck drive through their dining room, living room, and out the back into the ten foot privacy wall before the truck finally came to a stop.

Vernon wiped the blood, beans, and debris off his face as he stared at the damage in stupefied horror. Some small part of his brain screamed at him to check on his family, to make sure they were okay, but the much larger part, the part that hated anything abnormal, rightfully blamed all of this on that great oaf, Hagrid.

That larger part reached over, and broke the thin, reedy little piece called patience, and the red faced man began screaming incoherently as Petunia frantically searched through the debris for her miniature sea lion she called a son, who was lying under a pile of rubble, knocked insensate by a tureen full of beans. Vernon began cursing loudly and swore that he would personally end this travesty by killing off every witch and wizard he could find, with his trusty shotgun. Alone, if necessary. Just him and his trusty twelve-gauge pump action he'd bought in case those disgusting Addamses came back.

'Alone,' he thought to himself, 'if I have to.'

(snap snap)

In the clouds above Little Whinging, gunning his motorcycle as fast as the magically enhanced engine would go, Hagrid cursed in ways that would have made a Deatheater blush. He'd had a bad feeling about sending little Harry off with those idiot muggles. But _this_? He looked at the ground rushing past as he flew into the upper atmosphere, looking around before pulling his umbrella out, and quickly casting warming and rain repelling charms on himself before stuffing the illicit wand back into his enchanted coat. He needed to get back to Dumbledore with this particular tidbit of information as quickly as possible. He frowned as he saw a rather large black storm cloud moving against the wind at gale force speeds, headed for London. He had to steer well away from it, and his face scrunched up tightly in confusion as he scratched his beard.

That cloud almost seemed to be laughing in a _very_ familiar way. And he could almost swear he heard music as it flew past, punctuated by rhythmic finger snapping.

(snap snap)

The sky darkened over London, a dark, terrible storm blowing in that hadn't been on the forecast. Violent thunder followed horrific lightning as rain came down in buckets. Londoners, magical and non-magical alike, fled the streets for their homes, the magicals doing so in terror. Something horrible had come to London, and they'd decided it was time to set their home's wards to their maximum defensive levels.

As such, nobody noticed when a lightning bolt struck just outside the Leaky Cauldron, and an exquisite 1935 Rolls-Royce limousine appeared out of thin air. The children in the back seat were spellbound by the look of the filthy tavern right outside their door, and didn't bother to wait for the chauffer, Lurch, to open the door for them. Morticia and Gomez smiled as little Harry and Wednesday stepped out of the car, both dressed for a funeral. Morticia shed a small tear, though not due to the corset that slowly squeezed the life out of her, but because her babies were growing up. "Gomez, do you remember your first trip to Diagon Alley?"

"The better question, querida, is if _Diagon Alley_ remembers." Gomez said, his crazed eyes glinting maliciously in the light of the returning sun. "After all, Fester did try to make Madam Malkin's and Flourish and Blott's one big store."

Morticia nodded, smiling sadly. "He did always have an unseely love for fulminate of mercury. Well, let's get the children their supplies. Odd that Sunset Boulevard wouldn't sell us the item son the list since the children are going to Hogwarts."

Gomez shrugged as he lit a fresh cigar. "I'm sure it has something to do with politics. The stores probably have a racket going on with the school, and Hogwarts get's a kickback from Diagon Alley if the students buy exclusively from them." He nodded to Lurch, who guarded the car while the family strolled into the grimy tavern that served as the entrance to the magical town.

Old Tom, the tavern's owner looked up, squinting his eyes as a rather odd family, even by wizarding standards, entered his establishment, and stared in horror at the adults in the little quartet. "G-gomez…A-addams." Tom said, his eyes slightly bulging out of his skull. The only reason the Addamses would have to come to Diagon Alley would be if one of their foul brood was going to Hogwarts, and…

"Tom, old man! Pleasure to see you!" Gomez said, his pupils shrunk to pinpoints despite the gloom in the dimly lit tavern, a sue sign that his madness was on full kilter today. "How's that leg of yours? I do hope you're not still angry about the Wronsky Feint I pulled on you during that last game! The recruiters for Puddlemere were there if I recall…"

Tom's look of horror turned to one of vehement rage. "They were there to see me play, Addams! So, yes, I am still a little sore. Because you went_ through my broom! _ I wasn't even playing Seeker, you son of a -,"

Harry looked up at Gomez, "Uncle, can we get this over with? Don't get me wrong, I like the idea of getting ptomaine poisoning in this delightful little rat's nest, I want to go see the Alley!"

Gomez laughed, and nodded. "Sorry, Tom, we'll catch up another time! Need to take little Harry here and his cousin into the Alley and get their supplies for Hogwarts."

Tom looked down at the boy and saw the angry red lightning bolt on the boy's forehead, chilling his anger back into horror. "No…it can't be…" Tom mumbled as he stared at the well-known symbol of the dark lord's defeat. "It…it just can't be…" He muttered to himself as he began cleaning the bar on autopilot, accidentally using lamp oil instead of cleanser to rub down all the horizontal surfaces. "Harry Potter…raised by the Addams Family?" Tom paused in his cleaning, and pulled out his pipe, lighting a match after the Addamses walked out of the empty bar.

(snap snap)

A tall, commanding man with platinum blonde hair strode elegantly from the apparition point in Diagon Alley, a statuesque woman and small child following immediately after, the child looking every part the spitting image of the man, barring the very slight limp mitigated by the snake headed cane in his right hand. The people milling around the entrance to the Alley normally parted out of the way when Lucius Malfoy and his family came to the Alley on business, but today they seemed preoccupied, nervously whispering about the odd family that had come to the Alley just as the Leaky Cauldon burst into flames. He quirked an eyebrow as he less than gently used his cane to part the way and froze when he heard the name of the aforementioned odd family. _Addams_. His white face impossibly paled further. "Narcissa, beloved, I do believe our trip to get dear Draco's school supplies is about to become rather surreal."

Narcissa looked at her husband, an equally elegant eyebrow quirking up fractionally. "In what way, dearest?" Narcissa asked, her eyes scanning the crowd and noticing the fearful look in the eyes of even the _dark_ families. "Does this have anything to do with the odd weather in London?"

Lucius nodded fractionally, surreptitiously placing himself in front of Draco as he placed his thumb against the hidden rune on the head of the cobra that topped his ebony wood cane, releasing the hidden latch that hid his wand. Narcissa subtly flicked her wrist, drawing her own wand from the legally ambiguous wand holster up her sleeve that was of a sort normally reserved for Hitwizards. Draco was oblivious to the possible danger, the innocence of youth not yet shattered by the evils of truth. Also, he barely restrained his urge to run ahead to Olivander's to get his wand. A Malfoy did not, after all, give in to giddiness.

The crowd ahead parted like the Red Sea as a small group walked among them, the father of the little family puffing away at a fine cigar as he pointed out various shops around the Alley. Both Lucius and Narcissa's eyes widened fractionally as they both immediately recognized the adults in the clearly loathed group gadding about the Alley. Narcissa's off hand went to the wide, intricate choker with a n engraved silver cameo of the Slytherin crest that rested somewhat loosely around her throat while Lucius grimaced, the pain in his foot growing far worse upon seeing the wedded pair ahead of them. Narcissa glared at her husband as the strange family passed on their way around the Alley, the darkling of a little girl and the wild haired urchin with them laughing as the girl stuck a hatpin into a doll, a somewhat crude effigy of the boy. "Husband…that _business_ you said was vitally important you took care of…wouldn't happen to have anything to do with the Addamses being in the Alley today, would it?"

Lucius tugged at his collar. "Narcissa, my dove, you _do_ enjoy the new wing at the Manor, don't you? With the new ophidiarium, library, and dueling pitch?" He could feel sweat beading up on his brow under his wife's withering gaze. "Well, _dearest_, Gomez decided to give us a ridiculously hefty bribe _per child._ His son and daughter will both be able to attend Hogwarts."

"…With _our_ son?" Narcissa asked as he stepped closer to her husband, coming nose to nose with the taller man by stepping up onto her tiptoes. "I also enjoy the new couch you bought. I love it so much, I may end up moving it into my study. But, I would hate to deprive you of it, _dearest_. So, I think it's only fair you _sleep_ on that couch until Draco comes home for the summer."

Lucius looked like he was about to argue, until he saw the faint, tell-tale signs of the Black Madness burning in her eyes. The kind of madness his sister-in-law gave into willingly, and landed her in Azkaban. He swallowed, and nodded. "Of course dear. It does look like a comfortable couch. I'll break it in for you."

Narcissa's glower diminished slightly, the madness slipping back into the deeper recesses of her mind. Ill-advised as it may be to unleash those rabid dogs upon the school, at least they had gotten a _very_ nice wing added to the house. "Come Draco, it's time to get your wand." Narcissa said, looking her husband in the eye, "I believe your father will be _happy_ to go take care of the rest of your supplies while we get your robes as well." Her eyes never left Lucius' as she gave him a slight, horrifying smile. "Isn't that right, _husband?_"

"Have fun at your fitting, Draco." Lucius said smiling wanly as he left to go collect Draco's school supplies. It was going to be a _long_ year.

(snap snap)

Morticia leaned over and whispered in her husband's ear. "I see Narcissa and Lucius brought their dear little boy with them. I can tell he'll follow his father's example and be a backstabbing, conniving, cowardly little swindler. Narcissa must be so proud." Morticia said with a small smile. "I see she still wears that choker from the last time she and I crossed wands after graduation." She rubbed the spot where her left ear had been. "I haven't worn earrings since. I don't know why she covers her throat. It was some of my best work. I even signed it. Although," Morticia said with the ghost of a sinister smile, "If we cross wands again, I'll need to make an amendment. I am an Addams now, after all."

Gomez chuckled around his cigar, his eyes becoming more crazed by the moment as he recalled just _why_ Lucius Malfoy had a limp. "Guess bygones have been bygones. Either that, or old Lucius lost his nerve after I took off the tip of his big toe. To be fair, he _did_ hit me with the Cruciatus for at least a minute. I think it unnerved him a bit when I moaned your name. You're certainly better at it than old Lucy is."

Morticia laughed. "If I wasn't, Pugsley wouldn't be here."

Gomez cackled madly as he watched Wednesday frantically

(snap snap)

Wednesday was getting more and more frustrated by the moment. The doll she kept sticking with a hatpin was definitely Harry shaped, but he wasn't doubling over in pain from the pain being driven between the doll's legs. She tried for the doll's forehead, elbows, knees, and even directly into the eyes. No dice. She scratched her head, wondering where she'd gone wrong, as the black hair she'd put into the doll had come from the hairbrush in Harry's room.

(snap snap)

Lurch keeled over, groaning as he felt like he'd been stabbed all over his body with one of Gomez' rapiers. The stabbing pain in both eyes caused him to place his hand against a lamp post to stabilize himself, his fingers digging into the metal as another wave of pain rode over him, his eyes crossing slightly as a particularly stabbing pain between his legs almost caused his knees to buckle. He certainly hoped it wasn't maggots eating him again. They'd needed to go to a dozen cemeteries to find his newest batch of spare parts, and he hated going shopping for himself.

(snap snap)

Harry ignored his cousin's glares as he reveled in the ambiance of the boy was laughing like a loon, smelling the air that was downright charged with magic, unlike Sunset Boulevard. To be fair, that particular magical community hadn't been as densely populated, nor as old as Diagon Alley, a community that was already old when the Romans conquered Britannia. He could feel the place with all seven of his senses, could read auras with his eyes closed, and could _smell_ the fear on the air, knowing it was directed at them. He looked up and saw Ollivander's. "Auntie, just why do Wednesday and I need to use wands? I never see you or Grandmama use one." Harry asked as he looked back at Morticia, and inadvertently dodged out of the way of the hatpin Wednesday had thrown at him, the skull headed pin quivering in the door as he held it open. Wednesday rolled her eyes as she reached past him and dug her pin out of the door.

"It's because it helps you learn how to focus your magic." Wednesday said in a deadpan tone. "Most magicals don't bother to learn how to use magic windlessly or non-verbally." She looked back at her mother, "Or, at least, that's what Grandmama said. Is it true?"

Morticia tilted her head a moment to ponder the question as they chivvied the children into the ancient shop. Ollivander poked his head out of the back, his rheumy eyes staring blankly ahead. A small, toothy smile slid onto his face. "Gomez Addams, thirteen-inch hickory, Cerberus whisker core, infused with Basilisk venom. Very twisty. Morticia Addams nee Prince, ten-inch African Strangler, thestral wing core, unicorn bone handle. Light and supple. I hope your children…hold on a moment." Olivander's hands gently reached out, unerringly brushing against Harry's scar. His blind eyes widened significantly. "Harry _Potter_. It truly is an honor to have you in this shop. Hmmm…let me take care of your cousin Wednesday here first. I have the oddest feeling…" Ollivander shook his head, then pulled out a self-measuring tape that spoke the dimensions it read. Ollivander nodded along to the seemingly random series of numbers and held out his hand to catch the tape after it finished. He muttered to himself as he walked along the rows, and paused, his hand reaching out to snatch a particularly black box wrapped in warding sigils. "We rarely have use for combinations like this one…but I'd like you to give it a try. Just as soon as I remember where I put the key." Ollivander said, blindly fumbling around his desk after setting the box on a counter. He opened a drawer, nodded as he pulled out the keys and a pair of dragonhide gloves. "Being Addamses, I doubt you'll mind the risk, but I'd rather not come to harm by a wand I made. Again." He turned his blind eyes towards Gomez. "How is that brother of yours? Still blowing up your house, or has he decided to branch out to children's hospitals?"

Gomez laughed. "Wouldn't know, he disappeared a couple decades ago after we had an argument. Haven't been able to raise him using, er, _family_ magics, so we know he's still alive. I know he didn't cast that curse on purpose, he sneezed during the incantation."

Ollivander waved it off. "I became a better craftsman for it. Now then…eleven and three eighths of an inch, Oak used to hang murderers, manticore spine core, wrapped in Hebridean black heartscales…truly a dark, dangerous, and vicious wand. If the wrong witch or wizard touches this, they would be lucky just to lose a hand." He handed the wand to Wednesday, and a jolt of dark power ran down her arm as she held it, the darkness creeping up to her shoulder, the fabric of her dress turning to cinders as the corrupting wand burned the fibers to ash. The blackness slowed, stopped, then reversed itself, sinking back into the wand, leaving behind a few words in Latin, permanently burned into her wrist. Morticia looked down upon the inscription and smiled broadly. "Our family motto, Wednesday. I suppose you conquered the wand then?"

Wednesday nodded. "It felt like knives were stabbing my very soul." She looked over at Ollivander. "Got another one?"

Ollivander shook his head. "Sorry my dear, I technically shouldn't have had _that_ one. I knew necromancy was a common magic among you Addamses, but Infernalism seems a bit new."

Gomez chuckled. "Nonsense, old man! Why, our great aunt Calpernia was a summoner herself! And, Wednesday has always taken after the old sorceress. Uncle Nicknack was certain she was the old crone reincarnated before he left his heart in Austria. And his spleen in Sacramento."

"He used to joke about losing his head if it wasn't screwed on so tight. Leave it to Fester to try and be helpful."

Ollivander actually laughed at that one. "Hmm…I felt at least a dozen I could have you try, young Harry, but…well, amuse me, if you would. Eleven Inches, Holly with a phoenix feather core. If I'm right…well, here's the thing, Harry…the phoenix that gave up the feather for your wand only gave up one other…the one that goes to the wand that gave you that _scar._"

As soon as his hand closed around the wand, it burst into flames, disintegrating instantly, the flames taking the form of an angry phoenix as it flew through the wall, leaving a new window in the wandmaker's shop. "Huh. Well, that's never happened before." Ollivander said, blinking his no longer blind eyes. "But I certainly won't complain. It's been…has it truly been thirty years that I've been blind?" He shook his head, then took a step back. He looked directly into Harry's eyes, as if boring into the boy's soul. "I can see it now. That wand would never have worked."

Harry's face scrunched up in confusion. "Why not?"

Ollivander's smile turned somewhat coy. "I'm sorry, my boy, but I don't give spoilers. The author would kill me."

Harry's confusion deepened. "What?"

Ollivander looked back with the same look of confusion. "What?"

Wednesday actually smiled at that one. Just for a moment, but it was there.

Ollivander turned and began walking towards the back when a box threw itself off the shelf right into his hands. "Huh. A lot of odd things happening today. But…such a wand is an odd choice." He looked over his shoulder at Harry, looking like he'd sucked on a lemon. "Ten inches, Black Walnut, Ashwinder fang core. I mean, if you were a parselmouth…never mind, that's so beyond unlikely as to be laughable." Ollivander said, giving Harry a wink as he tossed the boy the box. Harry opened the box, and the wand practically threw itself into his hand. A reverberation of power knocked every wand box off the shelves. Every window in the Alley shattered, every snake in Jameson's Fine Pet store stood at attention, all of them hissing in unison, and every owl in Diagon Alley fled in terror, or shrieked in their cages save one, a snowy white owl that turned her head in the direction of Ollivander's, barking excitedly.

Ollivander looked at the Addamses, at Harry, then his wand. "That settles it. I'm going on vacation. I'll let my nephew run the shop for a few years. I've had it! I get my sight back, and immediately hand off the wand of the next Dark Lord!"

Harry didn't hear him. All he felt was an odd warmth running throughout his body, the wand seemed almost…alive, as if he was holding a warm snake. He hissed at the wand, and it hissed back.

'_Hello speaker. My name is Cinderscale. I am pleased to meet you.'_

Harry shook his head. '_I heard the wand chooses the wizard, but this is ridiculous.'_

(snap snap)

A bloated corpse wearing a black rubber ducky floated face down in the center of the Bermuda Triangle. A faint shockwave of magic struck the ghoulish body, waking it from its slumber. It rolled it's face towards the east, a mouthful of fetid teeth locked into a disturbing grin as the pallid man's eyes opened, the sclera an odd shade of purple, almost matching the dark rings around his eyes, his yellow irises almost glowing. He began swimming towards England, an odd power calling him to the North Sea. It was time for him to stop being mostly dead and seek out new adventures. After all, he'd never hung out with dementors before…and he had an odd feeling he'd be needed soon. A deep, raspy voice crawled out of his long unused throat as he saw triangular fins rise above the water. "**How wonderful. I was wondering what I should have for lunch."**

To Be Continued

Author's Notes: Again gang, sorry about the late update. As always, feel free to comment. I hope you good people keep reading this silly little scribble of mine, and if you'd be interested, I have a published work on Amazon. Check my profile for details. On that note, I'll be heading out. See you next week!


	4. Chapter 4

Author's notes: I have a few questions/demands/threats to answer before we get started…

Firstly, wands talking to their owners? In this story, very much a possibility…depending on how willing the wielder is to listen. Wand lore, canon or otherwise, indicates that wands seem to have a mind of their own. The nature of wands is nebulous and indistinct to the uninitiated (author speak for wait and see, no spoilers)

As far as Lucius camping out on the couch: sure, he certainly _could_ sleep in another room. But, if he wanted to _ever_ get out of the doghouse, he'll accede to her wishes, for now. After all, there are very few Lucius Malfoy fears…Narcissa, The Dark Lord, and Albus Dumbledore, in that order. A man should always be afraid of his wife, to some degree. After all, one is always at their most vulnerable when asleep.

As far as whom the floating corpse is…give it a few chapters. An inmate or two in Azkaban will certainly enjoy his presence. The Dementors? Not so much.

Finally, some of you may have noticed a difference or two in the case of Hermione and Ron…well, anyone ever heard of MK Ultra? Suppose Dumbledore had. Suppose he might be running a long con on all of Wizarding England. Suppose he's a meddling, sociopathic old wizard who refuses to relinquish the reigns as leader of the Light? Suppose such could be true? If so, setting up faithful minions, wizarding breeding programs (of sorts), and child soldier initiatives? Entirely possible.

On that note…

Disclaimer: It should be readily apparent that this is a fan work, and that I in no way, shape, nor form own, nor hold any rights, to either the work of J.K. Rowling, nor the original works of Chas Adams, or whomever currently holds the rights to his works.

Shad Nemo Freud Proudly Presents Sic Allos Subjectatos Nunc

a Crossover between the worlds of Harry Potter, and the Addams Family (snap snap)

Chapter Four: Shaking the Rattle

Dumbledore looked up as the door to his office opened, and the faint odor of burnt hair and ionized air filled his office. Hagrid looked like he'd gotten into a fight with an electrical outlet and lost. His hair was standing on end, and his mokeskin coat was still smoking. "Hagrid, my word, what happened to you? And, did you make sure Harry got to see Diagon Alley?"

Hagrid coughed, then licked his fingers, and used the moistened tips to snuff out an ember at the end of his beard. His hair, and subsequently his clothing, were not the only things smoldering, however, as the gentle giant's eyes bored into Dumbledore's. "He weren't there. As in, ne'er was. Accordin' teh tha' land walrus yeh call his uncle, his _other_ family came an' picked him up jus' as soon as we left."

Dumbledore's look of horrified concern for his groundskeeper gave way to his look of utter confusion. "Other family? But that would mean…" The blood in Dumbledore's face drained down into his toes. "The Addamses. But the blood…wards…" He consulted his instruments again, and his eyes widened in first confusion, then fright, finally settling on unbridled fury. "Dursley…just let them take him?"

"Let 'em? Practically gif' wrapped the tot an' tol' 'em to get lost." Hagrid said, glowering down upon his employer. "If anythin' happened teh Harry, I'll reinterduce yeh to Fluffy. Wi' a string a' sausages fer a belt." Hagrid took a deep, calming breath, and turned on his immense heel, and staggered out of Albus' office, the adrenaline that had flooded his system from the light electrocution he'd suffered on the harrowing flight through the black cloud that followed, then overtook him, from London. As the huge man stooped to leave the room, he began twitching intermittently, and the wizarding wireless began to crackle with static. Dumbledore shook his head as he went back to his instruments. The blood wards were intact, but Harry wasn't at Privet Drive? How could that be possible? He paused as he recalled that night. The wards were still settling in and hadn't…Dumbledore rubbed his temples as he felt a Lurch sized migraine settle into his skull. The wards hadn't anchored to the location yet when the Addamses had arrived, and simply followed them home. All without tripping the instruments he'd set up to monitor the wards that kept Harry safe from attacks. Well, outside attacks at least.

Harry…Dumbledore looked out his window, pondering the exact location of the young orphan. He got to his feet, and was about to go consult the school's roster when an energy wave that came from the south hit Hogwarts, and tripped every single one of the wards, causing the castle to shake with such violence that it flung all of the books off his shelves, knocked him off his feet, spun the portraits of the previous headmasters upside down (and exposing that undergarments were a relatively new invention in the wizarding world), and startling Fawkes into an early Burning Day. . In addition, his wireless set turned the dial all on its own, landing on a station from the states that played muggle rock and roll. The instruments Dumbledore had been consulting regularly to ensure young Harry was safe melted, exploded, or, in the case of the small device that monitored the Horcrux behind the lightning bolt shaped scar, formed a hand that gave him an exceptionally rude gesture before imploding, leaving no trace of its existence.

Dumbledore readjusted his glasses and looked around the rubbish pile that had been his office but a moment before, his face turning the same shade of puce as Snape's the day the Weasley twins made gunpowder in his Potions lab.

"What the bloody Hell was that?"

(snap snap)

Narcissa gently prodded her son forward, looking askance at the various shops as their owners worked on righting their wares after the unexplained wave of raw, wild magic that had wreaked havoc upon the Alley, reaching for the door to Ollivander's just as it opened, revealing a messy haired boy, a completely composed, dour little girl, and a pair of the most notorious magical practitioners either in Britain, or on the other side of the Pond. Morticia raised an eyebrow as her usual, wicked little smile crept onto her face like a vampire bat upon its prey, and slightly less deadly. "Morticia, it's been ages, and you haven't aged a day. Been bathing in just the blood of virgins, or have you finally decided to embalm yourself?" Narcissa asked with just a hint of venom in her saccharinely sweet voice.

"Why Cissy! I see you're still dying your hair. By the way, a choker? Really? And such a loose one! I'd almost think you were ashamed of my handy work! By the way, feel free to stop by the manor at some point, so I can make an addendum to the…art I placed around your neck. After all, I placed it there before I was married. And, it would be rather _gauche_ to leave my maiden name on your throat." Morticia said with a smile colder than the grave. "By the way, your son seems to be growing into a _fine_ example of the Malfoy house."

Narcissa's smile dimmed as she locked her eyes upon Morticia's, the Black Madness rising to the fore for a moment as Morticia gazed back until Narcissa looked away. Nietzsche was mostly right, after all, about the abyss staring back. Of course, in Morticia's case, her gaze was almost predatory, _hungry_. "Come along Draco. We need to get you fitted for your wand."

"Oh, and Narcissa," Morticia said as Narcissa stepped into the shop, "If you ever need someone's ear to bend about that husband of yours, I'm always willing to listen. Of course, you'll have to speak up. I'm a touch deaf in the one you took from me." She smiled as the door to Ollivander's slammed shut, and the remaining pane of glass in the shop finally lost the battle against gravity and fell crashing to the cobblestones of the Alley. "Well, that was fun. Shall we go have the children fitted for their robes next?"

"Of course, Querida. I just hope the old girl took down her sign that said, 'no dogs or Addamses allowed.'" Gomez said, a wistful look in his eye as the family strolled down the Alley amid the angry glares, fearful stares, and confused looks that followed in their wake. The madness in the Addams' patriarch's eye lessened some as he stared wistfully at the carnage they'd left in their wake. "I wonder where old Fester is now."

(snap snap)

-Somewhere in the West Atlantic-

A pale, ghoulish man ceased swimming as he reached the eastern edge of the Bermuda Triangle, munching on the dorsal fin of a great white. He rolled onto his back, and stared up at the horridly bright sun, the black circles around his eyes wrinkling in thought. How long had he been floating in the Triangle? He reached up with a gnarled, wrinkled hand and scratched his bald head with a fetid fingernail, the cuticles and jagged edges yellowed with fungus. "**I swear, I almost heard my brother's voice just now. Must have been my imagination." **He shrugged, and began doing the backstroke as he grinned, his crooked yellowed teeth almost looking serrated as his bloated purple tongue rolled across his blackened, shriveled lips. The sky above looked dark, a terrible sea storm rolling in from the east. "**At least the weather's nice and terrible. What I wouldn't give for one of Gomez' cigars right about now."** He heard a massive diesel engine and looked up. A cruise ship was barreling down on him, and his eyes widened fractionally as his rictus grin threatened to split his face in two. "**Would you look at that! I guess my ride's here!"** He tittered, his laughter growing darker by the second, reaching up and waving at the ship as the waves grew choppier. Looks like he wouldn't need to swim the whole way after all. He just hoped the Imperio curse really was like riding a bike. Otherwise, he might need to get creative "convincing" the Captain and its crew to take him to where he wanted to go. Not that he minded _creative_, but it did tend to sink lesser ships.

(snap snap)

Lucius shrank the last of the packages he'd purchased for his son's first trip to Hogwarts. He sighed, hoping that his dear wife was having an easier time of things than he was. It had taken half again as long as it should have to collect the things on the list, as none of the shops on Diagon Alley had come out of the Incident, as the Daily Profit would later call it, unscathed, save for Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. Why the Addamses had felt it necessary to come to the Alley the same day as his own family was beyond him. His missing phalange was itching terribly as he tried not to think of the night he'd lost that part of his toe, nor the almost _lustful_ look in Gomez' eye that had unnerved him long enough for the now head of the Addams Family to get off a wandless cutting curse that had positively ruined his favorite pair of boots. He fought the urge to rip his boot off and scratch at the old cursed wound as the very man parted from his wife and the two demon spawn, they'd brought with them. Morticia had taken the children into Madam Malkin's shop, and the odd man walked towards Lucius with one of those filthy cigars in his mouth, and a look of pure, unbridled psychosis in his eye.

"Malfoy! Pleasure to see you again, old chum! I trust the bribe I gave you was sufficient. After all, little Wednesday did get here acceptance letter. How's the foot? I do hope it hasn't been bothering you as much as that silly snake tattoo of yours." Lucius' eyes widened fractionally before a cold smile slid onto his face.

"Why Gomez, I'm sure I don't know what you mean by that. After all, only…He Who Must Not be Named-,"

"Voldemort." Gomez corrected, taking a long puff on his cigar

"…Right." Lucius said, a slight tick at the corner of his right eye starting to form. "As I was saying, _he_ only marked those that joined his cause _willingly_. And, as we all know, me and the other members of the Wizengamot that were _wrongfully_ accused of being members of that illicit organization were under the Imperius. None of us willingly followed that madman."

Gomez laughed as he shook his head, clapping a deceptively strong hand on the taller man's shoulder. "There's no need to be so ashamed of following a madman! Well, there is if that madman blew himself up using a surefire kill spell on an infant. That survived. With nary but a scar for his troubles. I guess that would be something to be ashamed of." His crazed eyes locked onto Lucius', "Unless that tattoo you 'don't have on your wand arm' will kill you if you ever try to remove it. That would just be silly."

Lucius finger itched as he fought the urge to draw his wand and see if the psychopath in front of him still liked the Crucio curse. He sighed. "As far as the…_generous contribution_ you made, yes. Your…_daughter_ is going to be welcome at Hogwarts. I can't say anything for that wild-haired son of yours-,"

"You mean Harry? No need to worry about him, old man, he's a legacy. Then again, the Potters _have _been going to Hogwarts so long as to practically be an institution-,"

"Potter?" Lucius' eyes widened more than fractionally, "As in the Boy Who Lived? He's been living with _you_ this entire time?" Lucius smile became strained as he felt his grip on reality begin to slip. The boy had been…well, safe was a strong word, but had been protected by the _Addamses?_ The blood vessels in his right eye began bursting, one after another, as his blood pressure rose. The boy that killed his former lord and master, the boy that had single-handedly caused the Knights of Walpurgis to need to go to ground, the boy that ended the Dark Lord's reign of terror…had been raised by the _Addamses_? Unbidden, a laugh clawed its way out of Lucius' throat. A laugh that slowly devolved into an insane cackle as he fought the urge to apparate directly to the office of the Board of Governors, take the floo to his fellow Deatheater's office at Hogwarts, and spend the better part of a week laughing and drinking fire whiskey. With any luck, that old goat Dumbledore would soon find out himself, and promptly keel over and die from a massive coronary. Considering Gomez bloody Addams was currently standing in front of him, he knew he was in no way or shape or form that lucky. He placed his hand against a wall as he slowly regained his composure. "I…I can't wait to get my first letter from Draco…excuse me, Addams…I…I need to go find my wife."

Gomez watched Lucius stagger down the street, barely restrained laughter causing actual physical pain in the "former" Deatheater as the head of the Malfoy family fought to remain upright. Gomez took a long puff on his cigar, smiled in an utterly horrifying way, and strolled down the Alley towards Gringots. It was high time he bothered to check up on the family accounts on this side of the Pond.

(snap snap)

Severus Snape looked about the Alley with a look of bemused confusion on his face. The last time the Alley had been in such disarray, men in masks and black robes had been engaging in a little light mayhem. That had been nearly eleven years ago, and he couldn't quite understand just why Dumbledore had sent him to the Alley, nor why the old goat had been in such a sorry state. It had taken three calming draughts just to get him calm enough to speak intelligibly, and an ill-advised fourth to finally get him calm enough to explain the situation. The Potter brat had apparently been stolen right out from under Dumbledore's nose, and taken to America. Once there, he'd been raised in the…_loving_…arms of his other relatives, rather than by the Dursleys. Dumbledore hadn't stated _whom_ the surrogate family had been, and had simply ordered Snape to go search Diagon Alley for a child bearing a strong resemblance to James Potter, which had earned the Headmaster a sneer (one of Snape's #113's, in fact, usually reserved for idiot children), and to simply observe. He rolled his eyes, and nearly missed seeing his friend Lucius staggering his way into Knockturn Alley, looking like he was dying. Upon closer inspection, Snape realized that Lucius was in physical pain, yes, but the cause was clearly laughter.

"Lucius?" Snape asked, a quirked eyebrow showing an unusual level of concern, considering the face it was upon.

Lucius Malfoy turned, looked up into Snape's eyes from where he was partially hunched over, trying to catch his breath, and began laughing anew. "S-snape…you'll never g-guess who I ran into today…" Lucius said, using his cane to help push him to his feet as the madness slowly fell away, leaving a mostly out of breath Lucius holding his side. "Gomez. Bloody. Addams. And, you'll _never _guess who was with him."

Snape's already pallid face became nearly translucent. "No." His eyes, black as coal, widened in horror as the pieces clicked into place. -Click! - Dumbledore is a frothing rage about the Potter brat. -Click! - The utter bedlam had befallen Diagon Alley (though oddly, hadn't touched Knockturn Alley at all). -Click! - His normally composed friend who would have flayed his house elf for any amount of stray lint, reduced to a cackling simpleton by the presence of his once hated foe, Gomez Addams. -Click! - That fortune cookie he'd read three weeks ago when he'd felt like getting carry-out from his favorite muggle eating establishment, the White Lotus Palace Chinese Restaurant in the West End, which had warned about children wearing pinstripes, and finally -Click!- the feeling of dread he'd felt that morning when he'd shaved his face, and had nicked himself, the dripped blood forming an odd pattern that looked a bit like a death's head in his wash basin.

Snape looked around the Alley, and spotted Narcissa chivvying her son out of Ollivander's just as…

Morticia.

His Cousin Morticia.

The Cousin who'd gone out of her way to be kind to him, despite his father.

The Cousin who had encouraged him to pursue Lily, claiming the girl had a certain, desirable darkness within her.

The Cousin who was currently leading a pair of children out of Madam Malkin's, a young woman that was clearly hers…

And…

Snape felt something in his mind stretch. A feeling he was unfamiliar with, as he couldn't remember a reason why his Occlumency shields within his mind palace were vibrating loudly enough for him to almost hear them outside of his own head.

Drip.

He smelled iron, and dabbed at his nose with a handkerchief, noting the blood that had started trickling out of his nose. He looked up and stared at the other child, happily chattering away when he wasn't hissing at his wand…which appeared to be hissing back.

A boy wearing spectacles that were elegant in their simplicity.

An angry, red lightning bolt shaped scar upon the boy's forehead.

And a maroon colored suit with silver pinstripes, with an emerald green pocket square.

Snape stood, transfixed as he stared at the retreating family, seeing them meet up with a man Snape recognized, feared, and yet was one of the few people he'd considered friends. No, not friends…his lip felt wet as the blood trickled out of both nostrils. Something felt absolutely _wrong_ with him, and he looked at where Lucius had finally met back up with his wife and son, then the family used an emergency portkey, and fled the Alley. Snape staggered back into Knockturn Alley, towards Borgin and Burkes, and ignored the shop keeper as he grabbed a pinch of floo powder, and flooed directly back to his quarters at Hogwarts.

He needed three things in short order. A calming draught, a bottle of fire whiskey, and a couple hours to sort out why his Occlumency was trying to give him a bad case of Cerebral Hemorrhaging. It was almost as though he was trying to force himself to remember something, but he couldn't for the life of him remember _what_.

(snap snap)

Dumbledore looked up as his resident Potions Master blew the door to his office off its hinges, a look of murderous rage on his face. "You utter bastard!" Snape said as he advanced upon the smiling Headmaster. "You…you used Legilimency on me! Made me forget-,"

"Sherbet Lemon?" Dumbledore asked holding up the bowl, the kindly smile on his face not quite reaching his eyes. Immediately, Snape sat down after sheathing his wand, a slightly vacant look in his eyes. "Severus, my dear _boy_, I see we're going to need the better part of an afternoon to fix this. Now, what _precisely_ set you off this time?"

"Addams. Morticia. Harry." Snape droned as he accepted one of the potions laced candies in the bowl Albus always kept in his office. "Gomez. Lucius. Wednesday. Family." Tears began sliding down the man's cheek as a glint in his eye warned Dumbledore that the former Deatheater in front of him was fighting the conditioning Albus had spent _years_ putting into place. Albus sighed, then pulled out the Elder Wand.

"I suppose I'll _really_ have to dig this time, won't I? Can't have you ruining everything. I do apologize, Severus…but let's face it, I would never have allowed Lily and James to name you as one of Harry's Godparents if I had been able to prevent it. Alas, their will is still sealed until young Harry gets a hold of it." Dumbledore nearly snarled that last part. The Potters had sealed the will, to only allow Harry to open it. His Fidelius charm he'd placed upon the Potter residence in Godrick's Hollow was _nothing _compared to the family magics that protected the will, and the various and sundry properties the Potters had owned before their deaths. Only the vault dedicated to Harry's upkeep had been made available, through political maneuvering, and that vault barely paid for the day-to-day costs of keeping up the remnants of the Order of the Phoenix. While he had power, money was in short supply. And, the last thing he needed was for Harry to have access to his family fortune.

Wait.

"Did you say…Addams?"

Snape nodded.

"As in…oh no." Dumbledore said, feeling the pit of his stomach descend under the stone floor beneath his feet. _Addamses!_ "And, the boy…"

"Healthy." Snape's slack face scrunched up in confusion for a moment. "Parselmouth. Was hissing at his wand. Wand hissed back. unusual core, my guess."

Dumbledore flicked his wand and peered into Snape's eyes. "I think I'll take a look for myself, if you don't mind, my boy. _Legilimens!"_

(snap snap)

Snape left Dumbledore's office, and strolled down the corridors to his office, his robes billowing behind him (despite the complete lack of wind) as he made his way down into the comforting smells of the dungeons, and into his lab. He rolled his eyes as he began making the potions Dumbledore had requested, Potions that would surely be needed as the school year wore on. Especially if those damned Weasley's tried to outdo themselves yet _again_. He sneered (a number 15 this time, one reserved for the Weasley twins) as he thought about their wasted talent, and what they could have been if they'd sorted into Slytherin. He shuddered briefly at that thought, then paused, considering what they'd have likely done to the Gryffindors they'd run afoul of. He shook his head. No point dwelling on could have beens…

Lily…

His lip curled into a different sneer (a #12, reserved for James Potter) as he began efficiently preparing the various and sundry components he'd need for the large batches or Pepper-up, burn cream, and Skele-grow potions Poppy had requested, and did his best to ignore the screaming in his own head that oddly sounded like his own voice, as well as the slip of paper on his desk that the voice was telling him to read.

The scrap of paper that read, in a shaky scrawl, "Don't go into Dumbledore's office", right next to another scrap of paper, this one out of a fortune cookie that warned about trusting men with long beards, and twinkling eyes.

To be continued

Author's note: I must say, you folks sure seem to be enjoying this fic. Just shy of 1500 views, and this fic is less than a month old! Really, you guys motivate me.

As always, feel free to comment if you have a question or an idea for the fic. I reserve the right to not use them, but they amuse me none the less.

See you next week!


	5. Chapter 5

Author's notes: Goodness, but this story has already reached over 2500 views! I really haven't expected to be read by so many of you so quickly! I really appreciate the support you folks have been showing me, and it motivates me to continue writing this sordid little tale. As far as some reviews that have popped up lately, I'll try and address them real quick.

Matt, I _did_ hear about the movie coming out October 11th. I'll be preordering my tickets soon.

Salazar: I haven't decided on pairings as of yet, but Wednesday and Harry is a possibility. That said, I'm not normally one to give out spoilers, so I suppose you'll just have to keep reading, and find out.

MMax: It's possible. Again, spoilers are evil, fetid little things that serve much the same purpose as gremlins.

Frankieu: Wait and see.

Well, that's all I have time to get to right now. After all, I have a chapter to write.

Ladies and gentlemen, the chapter is coming in for landing. Please return your seats and trays to the upright position. The smoking light is on.

Disclaimer: It should be readily apparent that this is a fan work, and that I in no way, shape, nor form own, nor hold any rights, to either the work of J.K. Rowling, nor the original works of Chas Adams, or whomever currently holds the rights to his works.

Shad Nemo Freud Proudly Presents Sic Allos Subjectatos Nunc

a Crossover between the worlds of Harry Potter, and the Addams Family (snap snap)

Chapter Five: Snake Oil Is Never Made of Actual Snakes…

The Minister of Magic sat up in bed after a good night's sleep, and slid out of bed, his slippered feet padding noiselessly as he made his way to his dining room, a curious sight upon the table as he sat down to his rather late breakfast. An emergency edition of the Daily Prophet sat next to his usual morning paper, and he picked up his tea, piping hot, and took a long sip as he read the front page of the emergency edition first. His eyes nearly bulged out of his head as he saw the picture, one of Diagon Alley in shambles. His tea flew out of his mouth in a rather impressive spray as he read the headlines.

_Diagon Alley Ravaged by Strange Magical Phenomenon! Dozens Injured! _

_Glass sales in Diagon Alley up 3000%, Ignus Glazier to Use Profits to Buy Chudley Cannons!_

_Leaky Cauldron Burnt to the Ground in Cleaning Accident!_

_Addams Family Sending First Child to Hogwarts in Decades!_

_Harry Potter Spotted in Diagon Alley!_

Cornelius Fudge's face paled as the read the last headline, looking over at the floo he had installed in his dining room. He tossed the paper onto the table, hurried over to the floo, and made a frantic floo call to Hogwarts, Headmaster's Office.

"Albus! You old goat! I thought I made it perfectly clear to you that the Addamses were persona non-grata at Hogwarts!"

Albus' face appeared in the flames, a completely unimpressed look upon his face. "And I do believe, Cornelius, that when you made that demand of me, I reminded you that according to the treaty between Hogwarts and Wizarding Britain, the local Lord, or Headmaster as such be the case, is the final arbiter in whom or what is allowed upon the grounds, barring a direct descendant of the founders coming to the school, and demanding entry. Granted, some concessions have been made over the years, such as making the Board of Governors an equal part of the process, so as to avert the disaster that occurred when Headmaster Filburn had taken office, and banned any student with more than three siblings from attending." Albus said, looking Fudge directly in the eye. "As such, Cornelius, I'm afraid my hands are tied. Until young Wednesday Addams warrants expulsion, I'm afraid she shall be granted entry, and an education, at Hogwarts."

Fudge's eyes narrowed. "How much did they pay Lucius to get her into the school?"

Albus shrugged. "I'm afraid the exact number is not readily apparent, but I will say the new wing on Malfoy Manor is rather beautiful. And looks expensive. And, from what I hear, Narcissa was not terribly pleased about where the money came from. Rumor has it, if you place stock in such things, that Narcissa has banished Lucius to the new sofa in the parlor."

Fudge failed to stifle the laugh at that last tidbit and shook his head. "Albus? I have a _very_ bad feeling about this. I'm up for re-election this fall, and you'll have an agent of chaos under your roof."

Albus nodded. "I must confess, Cornelius, the idea is not exactly palatable for me either. But she is a registered student, and has thus far not broken any rules, especially since the school year has yet to actually start. I will endeavor to keep you informed, however. I doubt there will be much to worry about. After all, she is only and eleven-year-old girl."

Fudge sneered. "In any other family, I'd agree with you. But, the Addamses give each other cursed artifacts as Yule gifts."

(snap snap)

Harry looked at his trunk. He was packed, and ready to head off to Hogwarts, the school his mother and father had attended in their youth, and the very place his Uncle and Aunt had studied, met, courted, and later been banned from for his uncles' rather cavalier attitude when it came to explosives. Speaking of explosives, Harry smiled as he carefully opened a secret compartment in the multi-compartment trunk Gomez had insisted on. Within was a small arsenal of throwing knives, a rapier, a pair of Colt .45 pistols with a dozen boxes of hollow points, varied explosives, timers, remote detonators meticulously designed to be hardened against the interference caused by the energies inherent in a magical castle. He doubted they'd be necessary, but the Addamses _had_ always subscribed to the idea that it was better to have than have not. Nestled in and among the plastic explosives was a case of his favorite brand of cloves, to get him through the first few months. A carton would simply not be enough. He carefully closed the compartment and felt the palpable darkness that sought to escape the miniature study in the bottom drawer, containing most of the hand-written copies of Grandmama's grimoires, tomes that served both as collections of necromantic rituals…and, to a lesser extent, cookbooks.

Harry also carefully removed a small, tattered cloth at the bottom of the main compartment, a baby blanket that had clearly seen better days, the very cloth he'd been wrapped in when he was taken from the Dursleys. He didn't remember the event himself, beyond hazy flashes barely remembered of the both best and worst nights of his life, the night he was robbed of his birth family and brought into his extended family's loving (if not always tender) embrace. He felt the air pressure in the room change ever so slightly, and turned to his left, narrowly dodging the crossbow bolt that would likely have given him a pain in the neck that would have also given him a sore throat. Wednesday's calm demeanor slipped somewhat, the faintest ghost of a frown tugging slightly at the corners of her mouth. Having known her for his entire life, that tiny change in facial expression was a clear as a vein bulging out of her forehead. Wednesday was angry.

"Why can I never catch you off guard?" Wednesday asked, her eyes closing fractionally. Again, such a fractional change was as plain as day to the boy she stared at. "It's infuriating that you always seem to know how and when to dodge."

Harry tilted his head and smiled as he pulled the crossbow bolt out of the wall and walked over to Wednesday. "Just lucky, I guess." He handed the Crossbow bolt over to his fifth or sixth cousin (he'd never bothered to actually check the family tree, seeing as how Ichabod was still harboring a grudge for the time he'd accidentally set on of the Whomping Willow's lower branches alight dodging a stream of flames from the flamethrower Wednesday had found in Uncle Fester's things when they were eight), deliberately holding onto the sharp, bladed head, digging the edge into his palm as he handed it to Wednesday. She looked at the blood on his hand, and rolled her eyes as she took the bolt from him, throwing it over her shoulder like a knife, and pinning her younger brother's shirt to the wall, halting his attack from behind, and causing the boy to pout as he tried to free himself. "At least you finally drew blood, Pet. Can we call a truce while we're at Hogwarts? You know how…_normal_ people react when we play in public."

Wednesday nodded. "Truce." She said, holding her hand out. Harry noted the razorblades between her fingers and laughed as he deliberately took her other hand. She sighed, and turned to leave Harry's room, looking over her shoulder as she crossed the threshold and into the hallway, watching curiously as he carefully replaced his tattered rag, and withdrew the legally ambiguous wand holster typically reserved for Aurors, strapping it to his wrist before withdrawing his wand from it's box. The wand immediately began hissing, and the faintest hint of a smile crossed her face as she watched her cousin argue with his wand.

"_Harry, you need to get into the habit of keeping me on your perssson at all timesss. I can't help you defend yourssself if you keep me in a box."_

Harry scratched the back of his head ruefully as he responded. "_I'm sssorry, Cccinderssscale, but Uncle Gomez told me to keep you locked up until it wasss time to go. He didn't want me playing around with such a delicate inssstrument sssuch as yourssself."_

"_Delicate? Delicate?! I'll show that sssoft-headed uncle of yoursss who'sss delicate!"_

Harry laughed as the want vibrated angrily in his hand. "_Wandsss are fragile, after all."_

Cinderscale stopped vibrating and grew warmer in his hand. "_It takesss around 2300 Newtons of force to crush a human skull. 4000 to break a femur. It would take at least 10000 Newtons of force to break the average wand, unlesss in a ssspecific ritual. I am _literally_ tougher than you are. Ssso, tell your Uncle to ssshove it up hisss-,"_

A loud groan for the top of the stairs caused both children to miss the end of Cinderscale's tirade, and they looked over at lurch. Lurch's eyes rolled upward as he pointed down the stairs. "Leaving." The pair ran back to their rooms, and dragged their magically lightened trunks down the stairs, and to the car, placing the chests into the trunk as Lurch staggered down to the driver's seat. Gomez and Morticia were sitting in the Rolls-Royce, while Grandmama had agreed to keep an eye on Pugsley until they got back from dropping off the school bound teens. Lurch. opened the small window between the driver's seat and the passenger compartment and groaned. Next stop, King's Cross Station."

The car drove to the end of the driveway and was swallowed by a small tornado that formed as the gates swung open, the tornado dissipating as the car became enshrouded in a rapidly growing black cloud before the cloud itself disappeared in a loud thunderclap.

(snap snap)

Ron scowled as the illegally modified deathtrap his father lovingly referred to as the family car came to a stop in the parking lot for King's Cross. As the family unloaded the car, his scowl grew, knowing they would have arrived sooner if the rest of the family took after Percy, the newest House Prefect for Gryffindor. They'd had to return to the Burrow _twice_ before they'd gotten halfway, because of this trinket or that bauble or, most importantly, the _bloody train tickets for the Hogwarts Express!_ He rubbed his temples, counted to ten, then grabbed onto the handle of his secondhand trunk, one that still had his Eldest Brother Bill's tally of girls he'd fornicated with notched into the lid. The young man had been _very_ popular at Hogwarts, apparently, and it was a lucky thing that contraception spells were so potent, otherwise his mother would have been up to her ears in tiny redheads, based on the sheer number of small cuts in the wood. He felt raindrops fall on his head and looked up to see a black cloud moving towards Kings Cross at high speed, a deafening thunderclap preceding a blinding flash of lightning. When the dots cleared from his vision, he whistled at the 1926 Rolls-Royce limousine that was now parked right next to the Anglia. He looked at the gorgeous car, and felt a strong hand pull him away from the odd family piling out of the car, looking up to see his normally jovial father's face harden life stone.

Gomez Addams looked up after helping Morticia out of the car, quirking an eyebrow up as he made eye contact with Mr. Weasley. "Artie old bean! Why am I not surprised that you and Molly had enough boys to start your own Quidditch team?"

"Addams." Arthur said evenly, doing his level best not to snarl and lunge for the smaller man to throttle him. "If you'll excuse me, I need to get my family into the station."

Gomez deliberately ignored the brush off, and chuckled. "Of course, Arthur. We'll catch up later!"

Arthur gave Molly a rather telling look, and she nodded. "Alright, boys! Let's get on our way to the station!"

Ron went along, somewhat reluctantly, as he saw something odd about the boy pulling his trunk out of the car's boot, a scar on the boy's forehead. His eyes widened as he remembered one of the late night "visits" from Dumbledore.

(snap snap)

(Ron, age nine)

Ron looked up from his bed, and saw small red sparks floating in front of his window in the shape of a flaming bird. He quickly dressed, slipped down the stairs, deliberately sidestepping one of the plans that squeaked loudly enough to wake the ghoul in the attic, and stole his way out of the house, making his way to the orchard. The old man sat on a tree stump and was reading the Daily Prophet. "Ah! Ronald! Come here, my boy!" Albus said, a slight twinkle in his eye that seemed ever-present. Ron didn't want to be rude, but he was pretty sure the twinkle was a cosmetic charm the old man had decided to use to make him seem more grandfatherly. Regardless, Albus folded his newspaper, and looked at the young man before him. "Are you ready for another bit of wisdom?"

Ron nodded. The old man tended to bring candy to go along with the stories he told, and according to some of the books he'd been reading when he could sneak over to the muggle side of Ottery St. Catchpole, what Dumbledore was doing could be construed as "grooming" a child for pedophilic acts. Visiting a young boy late at night, offering him candy…Ron shuddered as an image in his mind formed of the old man driving around a muggle neighborhood with a windowless van, offering candy if the children on the street would only step into his rape-mobile. He shook his head and pretended the crisp autumn air had been the cause of his shuddering, and not the idea of the Hogwarts Headmaster being a degenerate pervert with an unhealthy interest in young boys. He took the small bag of muggle candy, the "fun size" wrappers ripping open quietly as he slowly devoured the bag of illicit sweets.

"There will be a young boy, your age, who will attend Hogwarts in your year that I want you to befriend. His name is Harry Potter."

Ron's eyes nearly popped out of his skull as he choked on a malt ball. He coughed, and the chocolate came flying out of his mouth, and he glared at the headmaster. "Have you cracked? He's Harry Bloody Potter! They wrote books about him, you know! I'm pretty sure the adventure series is rubbish, but he's supposed to be one of the wealthiest kids in Britain! Why would he make friends with me?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Because the poor boy has grown up in poverty, Ronald. More desperate than your own. He'll have grown up among muggles for his own good and will need a friend to help him adjust to the magical side of things." Dumbledore said as he watched the boy ponder what he'd been told. "I'm sure that when he comes into his inheritance, he'll be happy to share the wealth."

Ron seemed a bit hesitant, staring at his half-eaten bag of sweets. He looked up, a confused look on his face. "He couldn't have been placed with a magical family?"

Dumbledore stared into Ron's own eyes, almost as if he was trying to bore into the boy's soul. "I cannot tell you that, too many lives would be at risk. What I can tell you is that Harry will certainly need a friend to help him during his years at Hogwarts."

Ron nodded. "I'll do my best…but you can't just _make_ someone be your friend."

Dumbledore smiled. "That's all I can ask, my young friend. Best be off to bed now. Wouldn't want your sleep to suffer."

(snap snap)

Ron was jostled out of his woolgathering by his mother's firm, but gentle hand pushing him onward. The lightning bolt scar. The glasses. The unruly black hair. Just like in those stupid, rubbish books his precious little sister loved to read. And yet…he wasn't completely sure about the disparity between muggle and wizarding economics, but _destitute_ muggles were hardly likely to have a magic car. Or a cadaverous chauffer. Or to dress in such fine clothes. Those suits and dresses were clearly tailored and looked _very_ expensive. Ron, on the other hand, could feel the pavement through the thinned soles of his trainers, handed down from the twins, and a small chill from the slight draft he felt through his nearly threadbare cast offs from Percy. Dumbledore's description of the boy's condition was either severely out of date, or the old man was barmier than he thought. Because that laughing, confident, well fed boy pulling a thousand galleon trunk out of the car's storage had a distinct scar on his forehead.

That boy was _clearly_ Harry Potter, despite his living circumstances being wildly different from what Dumb-ass-stork had told him. But, Ron shrugged, barmy or not, he was one of the more powerful wizards in the world. And, he did say he would _try_ to make friends with the swot, not succeed.

(snap snap)

Hermione Granger had to fight the urge to laugh in glee as she found herself on the other side of the barrier that separated platform 9 ¾ from Kings Cross, feeling the magic of the barrier as it washed over her and the trolley that contained all of her supplies she'd need for the year. She looked back, inquisitive as to how the barrier worked. She felt a slight tightening in her chest as she pondered that morning, her parents dropping her off, handing her the ticket she needed for passage to the Scottish Castle she'd call home for most of the year for the rest of her childhood. Ever since she had been a tot, her parents had always been somewhat wary of her, as neither of them seemed entirely comfortable around her, especially when she'd started accidentally casting spells. Poor Fluffy, their Pyrenees, had never been the same after a particularly tense moment when the dog had snapped at her when she'd tried to pet the dog while he was eating. He'd been taken to a nice farm in the country, her parents had told her…but she'd come to realize the dog had been put down. Then again, accidentally setting the dog (and part of the parlor) on fire out of fright and causing third degree burns to most of the dog's throat and face were certainly cause enough to put the poor animal down. Hermione rubbed the faint scar on her neck as she remembered the poor pup and shook her head as she watched a small army of redheads come rushing through the barrier, and squabbled as they loudly made their way to the train. She shrugged and made her way to one of the cars near the front. After poking her head into several compartments, she ran into a pudgy boy whose gaze rarely rose above his nose.

"Ex-xcuse m-me…I'm…I'm looking for my toad, Trevor. Have you seen him?" The pudgy boy asked, not quite making eye contact. Hermione quirked an eyebrow in confusion as she reached out and lifted the boy's chin.

"My eyes are up here." Hermione said, a slight smile to take the sting out of her words. "I'll help you find your toad…Trevor, was it?...after I get my things sorted. I'm Hermione Granger, by the way."

"Neville L-longbottom." The boy said nervously. He blinked for a moment, then tilted his head as he looked her in the eye. "Granger? That can't be right…the Granger cadet line of the Dagwood-Granger house died out years ago. That means…oh. You're muggleborn." He blushed slightly as he realized he'd been rather familiar with the girl in front of him. "S-sorry…not something we should talk about in m-mixed company."

"Is it a problem? That I'm _muggleborn?_" Hermione asked, a familiar feeling of exclusion gripping her heart. Not only had she been a barely tolerated member of the family when she was at home, she'd been an outcast at school for her immense intellect, and the odd things that seemed to happen around her. The familiar stinging of tears let her know she needed to change the subject before she broke down crying. Neville's eyes widened as he waved his hands, shaking his head.

"No!" Neville shouted, louder than he'd intended, and startling Hermione. "It's just that…some of the older families are a bit…um….intolerant towards muggleborns. My gran never really told me the full details, just that I should be careful whom I make friends with."

Hermione's brow furrowed angrily, her mahogany skin and long curly hair making her heritage plain to see. "I'd hoped that sort of foolishness wouldn't have existed in the magical world. I have to deal with it often enough in the _muggle_ side of things. I'd hoped bigotry ended the moment I stepped through the barrier."

"It's getting better in America, at least." Hermione turned, and looked into a gorgeous pair of green eyes that almost seemed to glow with an inner light behind a pair of fine eyeglasses. The boy had longish, shaggy black hair that defied any comb's ministrations. "The 'blood status' bigotry in the states doesn't really exist. Of course, some No-maj's still believe that melanin in your skin makes you inferior."

Despite herself, Hermione whispered "Mon dieu." almost inaudibly as she looked upon the handsome face of a young man who could easily have posed for any of the trashy teen magazines she read as a guilty pleasure. His face was angular, yet still retained some of the baby fat he seemed to have worked off on the rest of his body. "Uhm. Hermione Granger. We're, ah, looking for Neville's toad Trevor."

Harry fought the urge to bite his lip. French was a weakness for most of the male Addamses, and even though he was only distantly related (at the moment), he still felt the slight madness that a pretty young woman speaking French will drudge up in _any_ man's psyche, much less an Addams. Almost, it seemed, had been the operative word, for young Harry had _certainly_ heard it, and he gently took her hand, kissing the knuckles in a chaste, respectful way. "Harry Potter. Trevor you say?" He drew his wand, and looked around for anyone that might be paying attention. "_Cinderscale, how do I find a toad?"_

The wand hissed as it flexed slightly. "_You're asking a _wand_ how to cast spells? You do realize I've never actually cast any spells before, right? Well, other than the ones Ollivander used to make sure I wasn't a complete dud._"

Harry looked up to see the look of shock on Hermione's face, and the slightly more terrified look on Neville's. "You…you can speak to your wand?" Hermione asked. "What language was that?"

"Parseltongue. All of the Addamses speak it, and as my branch of the Potter line was a cadet branch of the Addams…" he shrugged. "People automatically assume it's a mark of a dark family…sure, we Addamses like the grim and Macabre…but does that make us evil?"

Hermione's eyebrows scrunched up as Neville's shaking stopped, pondering what Harry had said. Behind Harry, a pretty, if dour, young woman finally cleared her throat. "If you two could get a hold of your pre-pubescent hormones for a second, the spell my idiot cousin was trying to remember is _Accio._ In this case, _accio Trevor_." Wednesday said, flicking her wand, then holding her hand up. A large, fat toad flew into her hand, and she looked at Neville. "I believe this toad belongs to you?"

Neville looked into the eyes of the Addams girl, and felt those eyes drawing him in, as if his very soul was being drawn into those deep pools of absolute darkness, a pair of abyssal holes that absorbed everything when they were open. The palor of her face reminded him of the color of the bleached bone chimes he'd seen on the few visits his gran had taken him on when she went to go visit the now head of the DMLE, Amelia Bones, chimes that had always fascinated him nearly as much as his plants. The way her silky black hair seemed to strain against the cute little skull barrettes she used to keep her hair in line in the pigtails that rested on her chest. The color of her lips that seemed the same shade as blood despite lacking even a microgram of makeup on her face. In a word, she was beautiful.

And terrifying. Yet, like a moth drawn to a flame, he couldn't seem to look away, not even when she placed Trevor into his hand, and rolled her eyes as she opened the door to an empty compartment, and dragged her things in. Harry and Hermione joined her a moment later, and finally by Neville. Before the door had a chance to close, a redheaded boy tried to enter the compartment, noticed it was full, and frowned. "Sorry, thought you might have had an open spot. This train's pretty full."

(snap snap)

Ron sat down next to the twins, the compartment conspicuously empty. After all, only a madman would want to be near the Weasley Terrors when they were bored, and Ron knew, as per the few rad trips the family had taken, that boredom would set in within twenty minutes. The trip to Hogsmeade would take at least six hours, depending on how the tracks were laid. Sure, he'd have to endure his brothers once again, but it was better than trying to get into the good graces of a pair of Addamses. He hadn't heard the _entire_ conversation, but he'd heard enough that he wasn't willing to risk his health or sanity for the old goat. He opened his chest, and pulled out and exploding snap deck, hoping it would keep his brothers occupied for at least an hour, to keep himself unmolested by their pranks.

He got a good fifty seven minutes before his tongue swelled up tot eh size od a cow's as George Weasley finally lost his battle with boredom. Ron sighed as well as anyone can with a mouth overflowing with tongue, and nodded, closing his eyes as his benevolently sadistic brothers picked on him yet again.

(snap snap)

In the dungeons of Hogwarts, while the trainload of students barreled it's way to Hogsmeade, Snape awoke with a snort. He stood, and made his way to his laboratory, intent on the extra batches of healing salves, poltices, and elixers Pomfrey would need in the months to come. He paused as he looked upon cauldrons in various states of preparation, some near completion for several of the potions he planned to make. All were under stasis spells to keep them from spoiling, and he couldn't remember when he'd set them up. He shrugged and got to work bottling the potions that were ready to be sent to the infirmary, missing the counter that had a few sheaves of parchment covered in written lines. Or, rather, one line written repeatedly. A line that read "Don't trust Albus Bloody Dumbledore."

To be continued

Author's Note: Sorry about the _very_ late update. Personal issues, illness…a bunch of reasons. Anywho, I hope it was worth the wait. While there are still definitely NO pairings as of yet (these are 11-year-olds, after all), puppy love may be developing for a few of the students at Hogwarts.

See you next week. Hopefully.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Notes: Amazing. Over four thousand views. You guys make me want to keep doing this, despite my better judgement. After all, writing such darkness could cause me to develop a complex. On the other hand, life isn't _all _cyanide and waterboarding, so I guess I'm not that lucky.

And, while Morticia does _indeed_ have a penchant for herbology, I fail to see how that would necessarily mean she would have been in Hufflepuff. The loyalty to family angle, I could certainly see. But, Morticia was in Slytherin. Neville in Gryffindor. Where our plucky young "heroes" will end up depends entirely on the Sorting Hat.

Don't feed the readers. They are in a simulated habitat, and a strict diet and exercise regimen. Additionally, we don't want them to start thinking that they're people.

Disclaimer: It should be readily apparent that this is a fan work, and that I in no way, shape, nor form own, nor hold any rights, to either the work of J.K. Rowling, nor the original works of Chas Adams, or whomever currently holds the rights to his works.

Shad Nemo Freud Proudly Presents Sic Allos Subjectatos Nunc

a Crossover between the worlds of Harry Potter, and the Addams Family (snap snap)

Chapter Six: Red on Yellow, You're a Dead Fellow

The Hogwarts Express came to a stop in Hogsmeade, and the cars slowly vomited forth the hundreds of students destined to spend most of the year at the Scottish boarding school. Many quickly made their way to the "magic" drawn carriages, going directly to the castle to await the sorting ceremony just prior to supper. The first years, however, looked up at the immense man calling for them.

"Firs' years wih me!" Hagrid said, holding aloft a lantern half the size of the first years he called for. "Since this is yer firs' time teh Hogwarts, ye'll be takin th' boats. Come along then!" He looked among the first years, and spotted four in particular. The Longbottom boy, a bushy haired black girl he could tell would be a looker in years to come (despite her rather noticeable buck teeth), a girl who was unmistakably dark despite her paper-like complexion…and a boy with wild, shaggy hair, a pair of simple, if elegant glasses, and…the boy looked like the mirror's reflection of James Potter, if the man had decided to shave in a dim light. The boy's eyes were the same shade of green as the Killing Curse…just like his mother's. Hagrid watched as the boy laughed with the other three, and felt conflicting emotions as he gestured to the boats waiting for the first years. "Four teh a boat. You four…hol' up a second."

Harry looked up at the giant of a man, slightly confused. The man looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place where he could possibly have met the man. He wasn't an Addams, that much was patently obvious, so it couldn't have been a family reunion. He didn't recall seeing the man at Diagon Alley, so that was out. He tilted his head as he pulled a clove out of his pack, and lit up. "Sir?"

Hagrid looked down at the four, and gently reached down, snuffing the clove and taking it from the boy. "No smokin' til yer of age, Mr. Potter. My name is Hagrid, and ahm th' groundskeeper here at Hogwarts. I, er, I knew yer mum an' da. Big damn heroes, they was. Er…look, Harry, if yeh ever want to know about em, come see me in my shack." He looked down at the other children. "An', any friend of Harry's is alright in my book."

Harry frowned as he put his pack of cloves away. "Tell you what, old man, I'll do my best not to smoke around you then. As far as a visit, I'd be delighted! Probably won't be for a few days, but…" Harry felt someone watching him, and turned to see a redheaded boy furtively glancing his way. He shrugged, looking back to the groundskeeper. "Sorry, felt like I was being stared at."

Wednesday stepped into the boat, followed immediately by Neville. Harry stepped into the boat, then offered Hermione a hand to help her get into the boat as well. As soon as they were seated, the boats began to move of their own volition, all of the boats taking a meandering course across the Black Lake, headed for the landing that lead up to the front doors of Hogwarts. As they neared the landing, alien eyes looked up from the depths, a Lovecraftian horror staring at the boat that ferried Harry Potter to the castle. Wednesday stared back at the eye, a slight smile on her face as she looked at the giant squid as it reached a tentacle up from beneath the surface. She gave it a slight wave, and it waved back.

"Making new friends? Harry asked as he watched the giant suckered limb making a very human gesture to his cousin. She nodded, looking back at Harry, and missing the shy look of admiration coming from the heir of the Longbottom family. The boats finally came to a stop at the small pier next to the boathouse, and ropes flew from the little boats, mooring themselves as the children disembarked, shivering in the cold on the September night's air. Hagrid led them up the steps to the side door, where Deputy Headmistress McGonnagal was waiting.

"Evening Professor. Here's the first years, as ordered. I'll just be runnin along now. Gotta get th' animmals fed, and do a sweep o' th' grounds."

Mcgonnagal nodded. "Thank you, Hagrid." She then turned to the children, and gave them a stern look as she opened the doors. "Form a single file line please, and follow me. You'll wait in the corridor until your name is called." She turned on her heel, and strode into the corridor that led to a side door to the main hall. As the children made a single file line before the door, several spectral forms began to slip through the walls. One, a dour young woman who looked down upon the students with mild interest, another a bloodied man vaguely resembling Captain Hook talking to a man who looked like he'd died from hardened arteries as a third man smiled down at the assembled children.

"Welcome to Hogwarts! I am Sir Nicholas de Mimsy Poppington! I am the house ghost of Gryffindor!" His gaze rested upon Harry, and a small gasp issued forth from his spectral throat. "Why, I do believe you're Harry Potter! And…is that an Addams behind you?"

Harry nodded. "My cousin, Wednesday! Pleasure to meet you old man! Although…I apologize if it's a sore subject, old man, but aren't you also known as-,"

"Yes." The ghost said, a little deflated as he interrupted the young man, "Yes I am, though I'm not fond of that moniker."

Harry nodded, then looked up to see the Bloody Baron staring down at him. His voice was not unlike the sound of a blade slipping between a man's ribs. "Harry Potter. Your father was quite the…rapscallion in his day. Not unlike your, ahem, uncles." He turned his gaze upon Wednesday. "An Addams at Hogwarts…this will certainly be an _interesting_ seven years. Hopefully, not fraught with…_accidental_ deaths."

Wednesday's lips quirked slightly, the ghost of a smile forming at the corners of her mouth. "I would never kill someone." She paused for dramatic effect, "On accident."

The Bloody Baron chuckled, then floated along, pulling along a slightly unnerved Fat Friar. The sound of a water balloon hitting the floor drew the ghosts' attention to the form of a garishly dressed man throwing balloons full of garlic water, and the ghosts flew after him, chasing the raspberrying ghost back through the wall.

The door to the main hall opened, and the main chamber grew silent. McGonnagal's voice floated through the door, calling for, "Abbot! Hannah!"

A pretty redhead who still carried a little of her baby fat timidly walked into the main hall, and sat upon a small thre legged stool with a tattered old hat upon it. Immediately upon placing it on her hat, the Hat began muttering for a moment, then yelled out , "Hufflepuff!"

Ron glared at the door from his point in the line. "A hat? The House I'll be sorted into during the course of my education is determined by a _hat?_ I knew Fred and George had to be taking the piss, they said I'd have to wrestle a troll!"

Laughter made it's way up the line as another name was called out. "Addams! Wednesday!"

Wednesday nodded to her cousin and Neville, and strode directly to the hat. As soon as she placed it upon her head, the hat stood tall, as if surprised by the mind under it's brim.

"An Addams! I thought Dumbledore would have cut off his left…arm before he'd have let another one of you into this school. Hmmm…You would be a good fit for _any_ house, as you're certainly brilliant…loyalty is an obvious trait within you…I wouldn't say you're brave, per se, but certainly _fearless_. Then again, growing up in your family, I'm hardly surprised. Hmm…ambition is there in spades. Ah! There's the lynch pin! No choice but to send you to…Hufflepuff!"

A pin's drop would have been as loud as a hand grenade in the great hall as Wednesday sat the hat down on the chair, and quietly strode over to her table, her tie and patches changing as she walked. Hannah looked at Wednesday in some slight trepidation as the dark girl took her seat. McGonnagal blinked in surprise for a long moment before she called the next name on the list. Most of the other children were quickly sorted, especially a blonde boy that could _only_ be Draco Malfoy, who was sorted into Slytherin before the hat could come to rest over his ears. Harry had heard Hermione sorted into Ravenclaw, and nodded. He could already tell she would be one of the brightest witches of the year, just from the way they'd talked on the train and on their way to the line he was currently in. Finally, his name was called, and he swaggered confidently over to the chair, picked up the hat, and took his seat.

The hat actually chuckled as it settled over his brow. "Ah, Mr. Potter. Or, should I call you Addams? No, I suppose that can't be right, not yet. Hmm…your cousin was an odd one, not unlike yourself. But, where to put you? I suppose, given your loy-"

"Slytherin. I choose Slytherin."

"…huh. Are you sure? You could be a source of inspiration for the Lions…a keen example of the Intellect of the Eagles, just like your friend Hermione…And, let's face it, your passion for your family would make you the gold standard for the Badgers…"

"I'm sure. Slyhterin." Harry hissed in Parseltongue, causing scattered gasps from the rest of the hall.

"Very well…but, if you don't mind my asking…why the house of the Snakes, other than the obvious?"

Harry smiled rakishly as he lifted the brim slightly, and looked over at the head table, meeting eyes with the Headmaster. "Because Slytherin has earned a bad name for Bigotry. I plan on fixing that." Harry hissed, winking at the headmaster as he let the brim slide back over his eyes. The hat began barking with laughter, an odd wetness coming out of the folds that formed it's eyes.

"Oh, but you are an _ambitious one!_ I have no other choice! Slytherin!"

A smattering of applause came from Slytherin's table, and Harry practically skipped over, sitting down at the table with great enthusiasm, and irritating the upper years. He simply looked at them and smiled. One of the upper years, a brutish looking young man wearing a pin that denoted his status as the Captain of the Slytherin Quiddich Team, became utterly unnerved as he gazed into the eyes of a mad man, looking away from the intensity of the gaze contained within the eleven year old's eyes.

The last child to get sorted, after Ron was sent to the Gryffindor Table, was Blaise Zaibini, who was sent to Slytherin. As soon as his bum hit the bench, The Headmaster raised his voice.

"Welcome to Hogwarts! Another year, another group of new first years. I know that you will all do your utmost to make them feel welcome. As is true with every year, our castle's caretaker, Argus Filch has posted a list of contraband items on the door to his office, as well as in every common room. The forbidden forest is just that, and not simply as a trite monicker; all manner of dark creatures call it home, not the least of which being a colony of acromantulae. The third floor corridor is off limits to all not seeking a painful death. And, before we tuck into our sumptuous feast, I'd like to say a few words: Nitwit, Oddment, Blubber, and Tweak. Tuck in!"

With those last words, a veritable smorgasbord of delicacies appeared on the table: deep-fried diracawl legs, roast beast straight for the land of the Whos, frenched racks of lamb, and a vast multitude of roasted meats. Hannah's mouth watered as she began plating her food, and noticed the slight look of disgust on Wednesday's face as she picked over her area of the table, discretely pulling out a small bag from her robes, and sprinkling a green powder over her plate before she began to eat. Hannah quirked an eyebrow as she sunk her teeth into a diracawl leg. "What's that?"

Wednesday forced herself to smile, to act in a _friendly_ manner as he rmother had instructed her to do so. Hogwarts was, after all, a place to form important connections, if not friends. "Powdered hensbane. Helps the flavor." She then took a bite, nodded, and proceeded to clean her plate.

Hannah looked at Wednesday aghast. "Isn't hensbane a lethal poison?"

Wednesday smiled a bit more naturally, a dark look in her eye. "Only if you're not an Addams."

(snap snap)

Snape hadn't touched his food, staring at the table his Snakes were quietly eating at, a noticeable wake around one of the first years. A wake caused by what could only be charitably called fear. The boy paused mid bite, as if sensing eyes staring at him, and turned to look at the Head of Slytherin house. In an instant, Snape felt an overwhelming surge of nostalgia. Those eyes, the same shade of green as the killing curse returned him for the briefest of moments to a…wedding? A wedding that joined together the love of his life, Lily Evans…and…he smeeled blood as he was forced from his musings, an equally overwhelming feeling of disdain for the boy. Harry Bloody Potter. Harry Bloody Potter was in _his_ house! He gave the boy a number eighteen sneer, and looked away as Professor Quirrel began prattling away in his ear. He did, however, see a look of pain cross the boy's face as he reached up and rubbed the scar on his forehead. Curious.

He finally looked down at his plate, and noticed several small blood splotches on his plate, and touched his upper lip, his fingers coming away red. He sneered again, and left the hall, headed for his office. He had potions to work on before he gave his annual speech to his house before they toddled off to bed.

(snap snap)

Draco watched as his godfather left the hall, a faint look of concern on his face. He'd developed a nosebleed after looking at the first year seated close to the Malfoy heir, and promptly left the feast, his robes billowing behind him despite any obvious source of wind. He shrugged a he looked at Potter, and grimaced as he remembered his father words.

"_Draco, my son, there will be a _very _dangerous young man to make an enemy of at Hogwarts. His name is Harry potter. Forget _everything_ you've been told about the boy. If, by some incredibly unkind twist of fate, he ends up in your house…do your best to stay on his good side."_

When his father had spoken those words, he'd been inclined to laugh until he saw the look of _terror_ in his father's eye. A look that was never, never, a thousand times _never_ revealed to Draco. His father displaying such an emotion, with such intensity, meant that he was deadly serious. Draco swallowed the bite in his mouth, and looked over at Potter as the boy stopped staring at the head table.

"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

Harry turned to look at Draco, and nodded. "Right. We, uh, met at the alley. Briefly." Harry pushed his plate away, his appetite ruined by the sudden, less than pleasurable migraine he'd developed.

Malfoy nodded. "Right. So…As a member of the elite families in Wizarding Britain, I thought we should talk. After all, you wouldn't want to make friends with the wrong sort of-,"

Harry interrupted him with a finger. "And halt. Look old man, I get what you're trying to do." He looked Draco in the eye, and smiled. "You're trying to curry favor with me for some reason. And, rather ham handedly, if the way your bookends tensed up when I interrupted you." He looked at the larger boys, sizing them up with a single look, then dismissing them entirely. "Boil and Crack, right? Anyways, While I'd be dlighted to hear your parroted words from your _father_, I'm sure there's a perfectly good brain in theat skull of yours. Let me go ahead and cut to the chase: I have no interest in making friends with pureblooded bigots. I plan on making friends with the kind of wizards and witches that bring something to the table _other_ than what their inbred families can do because of what this ancestor or other can do for them." He rolled his eyes. "Governments already sit up and take notice of what we Addamses say or do. If someone threatens the _family_, we take it as a compliment. If they come to us, on their bellies like worms, we ignore them for the insignificant toadies they are. So, if you _really_ want to be friends, I recommend you. Pay. Attention. To. What. You. Can. Learn. From. Others. If all you have to offer me is the names of dark families that followed the Dork Lord of the Sith that killed my parents, then I'll pass."

Draco's eyes widened as his hand itched to draw his wand and curse the boy in front of him. He paused, however, and pondered the words Harry had _actually_ said. "I see. We'll talk later, Potter."

Harry nodded. "Oh, and by the way…if you plan on going after my cousin, I'd like to, in the spirit of fair play, warn you that she's not as understanding as I am. Also, she has a taste for knives. If you try to curse her, make sure your life insurance is up to date. She plays for keeps."

Draco nodded, not entirely sure if he was being threatened or warned. He decided that the latter was more politic, and turned to his bookends, Crabbe and Goyle, and told them the Addams witch was off limits.

(snap, snap)

Hermione looked over at the Slytherin table, and frowned slightly. She had hoped that Harry would have chosen her house. Largely because of the things she'd been told about that house. The hat had told her that Slytherin would be where she would truly shine, but that Ravenclaw would be the best house for her purely academic interests. She noticed that the other Ravenclaws were pointedly ignoring her, and she sighed. Outcast again. She looked back up from her vegetarian meal, and caught Harry's eye as he looked around the hall, and the Snake gave her a small smile, and winked. She smiled back, and went back to the deliciously roasted vegetables before her. As soon as the dessert platters appeared, she smiled impishly as she sampled the sinfully rich chocolate cake. What her parents didn't know about her dining habits at Hogwarts wouldn't hurt them.

At home, her parents had always been a little cold to her. It wasn't that they didn't love her, far from it…it was just the oddity of having a witch in the family. Having been raised Anglican, it was a strange feling to know that she was going to a school to learn witchcraft. She shrugged as she finished the chocolate three layer cake. After dinner, she was led up the stairs to her dormitory, and was delighted by the fact that the password to the dorm was a riddle. Each time the door was summoned, it would ask a new riddle to test the entrant. Upon entering, she nearly fell to her knees, seeing the walls were filled with books of esoteric lore. Granted, none of the books were anything that would have been found in the restricted section, but the sheer breadth of the books astounded her.

She made her way up to her room, and noticed the other girls were sneaking glances at her, and giggling whenever she looked. The worst offender was the very pretty Asian girl. Chang, if she recalled the girl's name, smiled venomously at her as she got changed for bed, her muggle pyjamas in stark contrast to those worn by her dorm mates.

"Granger…you're a muggleborn, aren't you?" Chang asked as she slipped into her blue and copper pyjamas, the symbols of eagles flying around on her top animated to look like they were diving into the blue silk, and coming out of the water with silvery fish that they quickly devoured.

Hermione nodded, a slightly hopeful look on her face. "Yes. My parents are dentists."

Chang laughed as she shook her head. "Amazing. And what do these, what did you call them, _dentists _do?"

Hermione smiled, showing off her buck teeth. "They are healers, you might say, but they work on teeth. Without magic."

Chang laughed again. "And they couldn't be bothered to make you look _less like a beaver?_"

The other girls laughed in dirision as Hermione felt the warm, burning sting of tears as she fought the urge to cry. The other girls slipped into their beds, laughing as they closed the curtains. Hermione crawled into her own bed, and cried herself to sleep. She'd hoped a school of magic would have been different, but she was rooming with _bullies!_

(snap, snap)

Albus settled heavily into his seat, and glared at the drawer where the Prophecy was kept. He looked up as Snape burst into his office once again. He rolled his eyes as Snape drew his wand, and prepared to curse the old man.

"Albus, you utter bastard! I'll kill you for this! You've twisted my mind against the son of the only woman I've ever loved! Avada-,"

"Sherbet Lemon."

Snape's face went slack, and he sheathed his wand, taking his customary seat in front of the headmaster. "What was it this time?"

"Harry. Wednesday. Wedding."

Albus sighed. The man's occlumency was so damned strong that even trying to rewrite his memories was proving impossible. Luckliy, he'd been experimenting with an enchantment he'd been weaving into a ring for the nut that proved nigh impossible to crack. "Severus, I want you to put on this toe ring. Never take it off."

Snape's face twisted into a vicious snarl as he fought off his conditioning. "Fuh-,"

"Imperio." Dumbledore said, his wand pointed at the man's face. Snape's brow became slick with sweat as he fought a war on two fronts, and unfortunately, lost the battle. He shakily removed his boot, and slid the ring onto his pinkie toe. Dumbledore wiped the faint sheen of sweat from his own brow. "I think you've potions to get back to, Severus. But first, make sure you go give that little speech of yours."

Snape got back to his feet, and left the room. The paintings of the previous Headmasters glared at him, and he waggle dhis finger. "not a word. I take no pleasure in this. But, I need him to act in an antagonistic manner towards the boy. It will make me an ally against the evil, dark, peevish potions master, after all."

Dippet was the only painting to look upon him favorably, and Dumbledore wondered, not for the first time, if he was going too far. He decided not to dwell on it. After all, it _was_ for the common good.

Fawkes trilled sadly as he watched, unnoticed by Dumbledore, as the man damned his soul. At this rate, he wasn't sure who would die first…the old man, after his control of Snape finally snapped, or the potions master from severe cerebral hemmoraging.

To be Continued.

Author's notes: Love to hear from you fine folks that leave your comments. Keep reading!


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Notes: I am absolutely stoked by the fact that I've got almost 5500 views! It helps me get up the motivation to chew through the straps in the morning. Also, before anyone mentions it, _yes_, I do know that Cho Chang is a year ahead in canon, but I never liked the vile little eagle, and having a Pureblood that gets shown up regularly by an upstart little "Mudblood" in her own year will please me.

It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the readers. They had never wronged me. They had never given me insult. For their money I had no desire. I think it was their eye! yes, it was this! They had the eye of a vulture -a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees -very gradually -I made up my mind to take the life of the audience, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.

Name that short story (no googling, cheaters!) in the comments, and I'll choose one reader at absolute random (let's face it, I'll pick the one with the funniest answer) to be added as a first year in the very next chapter. Bit part, to be sure, but there nonetheless.

Alright, let's get this show on the road.

Disclaimer: It should be readily apparent that this is a fan work, and that I in no way, shape, nor form own, nor hold any rights, to either the work of J.K. Rowling, nor the original works of Chas Adams, or whomever currently holds the rights to his works.

Shad Nemo Freud Proudly Presents Sic Gorgiamus Allos Subjectatos Nunc

a Crossover between the worlds of Harry Potter, and the Addams Family (snap snap)

Chapter Seven: Snake charmer

Lucius Malfoy glared at the idiots sitting in his antechamber. Narcissa had shut herself up in her rooms, for plausible deniability, while Lucius and his "hunting buddies" got to their usual pastime since the fall of their lord.

Plotting.

Augustus Rookwood swirled his cognac in his fine crystal snifter as he pondered their current clandestine operation. "Look Lucius, I fail to see what the problem is. So what if the Potter brat is at Hogwarts? It's not as if an eleven-year-old can cause that much trouble, is it? His defeat of the Dark Lord notwithstanding, the boy _just_ got his wand, after all."

Tiberius Nott nodded, pouring himself a tumbler full of Ogden's Finest. "My son wrote me saying he's got _your_ son under his thumb, but I'm sure your darling Draco is simply toadying up to him to look for the right place to drive a dagger into the boy's back. Theodore hasn't tried ingratiating himself to the Potter spawn yet, but I'm sure it's simply a matter of time. It's too bad that son of yours can't try out for the house team as of yet, but I'm sure you could _persuade_ that thickheaded child of Flint's to let him on the team next year. After all, the team's brooms could use a bit of renewal. By the by, how _are_ those stocks of yours in the Nimbus Corporation doing?"

Lucius fought the urge to curse his comrades in arms. He had deliberately handed his cane to Narcissa for just that reason, and his allies were mercilessly taking ruthless advantage of the fact that his cane was conspicuously absent. "Look, it's _less_ about the boy himself, and far _more_ about his family. Or, hadn't any of your children told you about the Addams witch currently attending Hogwarts?"

Yaxley laughed darkly as he set down his gin and tonic. "Please, the girl was sorted into _Hufflepuff_. I'd put even odds on her wetting her skirt the moment any of our children pulled a wand on her."

The fireplace belched forth green flames, and a dour man strode forth, using his wand to _scourgify_ the soot particulates that clung to his billowing black robes. Snape nodded to those in attendance, and took a seat in the only unoccupied chair, his eyes looking more sunken than usual. Lucius quirked an aristocratic eyebrow as their spy in Dumbledore's camp immediately poured himself three fingers of fire whiskey, quaffed it in one gulp, then poured himself another. After a sip of the second tumbler, he shook his head, trying to shrug off the foul memories of his first day of classes.

"Something the matter, Sev?" Lucius asked, a wry smile on his face. Snape turned a gimlet eye upon one of his oldest frenemies and gave him a #27 sneer.

"That Addams girl will be the death of me. Instead of creating a simple boil-reducing potion, she made a draught of living death. Perfectly. I had no choice but to award her five points for her ingenuity, considering I hadn't put any of the bloody ingredients for the potion on the table!" He pinched the bridge of his nose as he counted to ten, then took another sip. "To make matters worse, that…_boy_ was sorted into my house."

Lucius nodded sympathetically. "This was what I was literally just talking about before you deigned to arrive, Sev." Lucius said, receiving his friend's glare with a small smirk to take some of the venom out of his words. "Our…_esteemed_ colleagues seem to think I'm making mountains out of molehills in regard to those two."

Snape shook his head. "I realize that some of you dunderheads may never have tangled with the Addamses, especially since they rarely show their faces on this side of the Atlantic, but make no mistake: there's a reason the Dark Lord never went to the Americas, and it had nothing to do with the MACUSA's toothless threat to garotte him with his own epididymis should he ever set foot on American soil. It was because of the Addamses, though he'd never admit to fearing anyone."

"Pah! Like any one Dark family is anything to be feared compared to the might of the Dark Lord." Nott said with a laugh as he lifted his tumbler to his lips. Before he could blink, Lucius had seemed to teleport to his feet, and Nott found himself staring cross-eyed at the feathery tip of a quill in his face.

"If that were my wand, Nott, you'd be dead already. Severus is likely the only member of our little masker's club that can match me in a duel that's not currently rotting away in Azkaban. And Gomez Addams took the tip of my toe as a trophy the one time I dueled him. I hit him with the Cruciatus, and he _moaned_ his betrothed's name. If you think he hasn't already been training his children in the art of the sword, knife, wand or even muggle weaponry, you've lost the plot." Lucius set the quill back on the table as he retook his seat. "Do _not_ underestimate that boy or his cousin. They will be the death of you if you do."

(snap, snap)

Hermione swished and flicked her wand as her partner sat bobbing her wand and making her own feather do the cha while Hermione caused her own to sway like it was doing a waltz. Flitwick had praised both girls, awarding Wednesday and Hermione both ten points for their respective houses. The girl directly behind Hermione, on the other hand, could barely get the blasted quill to do more than flop about. Cho did her best to bore a hole through the back of the black girl's head with her eyes alone but couldn't seem to do more than cause the girl to turn to look back at her.

Hermione decided, rather than be vindictive and let the girl fail to get the incantation right, to offer an olive branch. "Chang, it's Levi Oh sah, not Levioh Sah."

"Mind your own business, Beaverteeth." Chang muttered quietly enough to not get their instructor's attention. "I don't need some little Mudblood-,"

The handle-end of a wand found itself between Cho's eyes as Wednesday stood, her black eyes boring into Cho's brown. "Why don't you go ahead and say that loudly enough for the entire class to hear?" Wednesday asked in a manner that made it clear it wasn't a question, but a command, her blank face belying the absolutely furious look in her eyes. "I realize that, being an American witch, things may be a little different here, Miss Chang, but back home, that kind of language get's you hexed. I could even understand if this shared class were one of your house and Slytherin…but, for a house of those _supposed_ to be keen of wit, you've just proven to me that you're no doubt inbred, idiotic, and incapable of forming a proper insult. Stick to your strong suit."

Cho trembled slightly as she looked over to Flitwick, who was watching with a certain level of irritated interest. "Professor? Aren't you going to do anything about her pulling a wand on me?"

The half-goblin shook his head. "Twenty points from Ravenclaw, Miss Chang. While I may not have heard the language you decided to soil your mouth with, I can certainly guess as to what you may have chosen to call Miss Granger. But, that's not why you lost points." He pointed at Wednesday's hand, his eyes half-lidded as he continued, "After all, it's rather difficult to curse someone with the _handle_ of a wand. The twenty points are for lack of attention to detail. I can't say I'm surprised, however, considering that Miss Granger's attempt to help you learn how to _properly _pronounce the spell are absolutely correct, but I'm sure we can go over that during the week of detention we'll be seeing each other for. Miss Granger, take another ten points _for_ Ravenclaw, for trying to help a fellow classmate that just can't seem to grasp the concept of house unity. And you miss Addams…another five points for Hufflepuff for not only your loyalty to your friends, but also for proving that the house you're sorted into does not mean you have a natural affinity for the valued trait of that house. I mean it as no insult when I say that you certainly possess the cunning of a Slytherin."

The bells rang, and Flitwick dismissed the class, Hermione's eyes threatening to let loose a torrent of tears. She felt a firm, but soft grip on her shoulder. She looked back to see Wednesday's dark eyes peering into her own. "A non-magical author once wrote a series I recommend you look into. One of the characters had some advice for a young man who took great offense at being called a bastard. That character informed the man to wear the moniker like a suit of armor, and if he accepted it, it could never be used to hurt him. It was written by George R. R. Martin. I recommend you read it. It may help you toughen up some." She let go of Hermione's shoulder, and continued onward to her next class.

Hermione watched her walk away and wiped her eyes. She didn't quite know what to make of the Addams girl just yet. They weren't friends, per se, but the display in Charms had certainly endeared the dour girl to her somewhat. She pondered Wednesday's words, and made her way to Transfigurations for a double period with the Slytherins. Perhaps her day would get better. After all, if she was lucky, she'd get to sit with her favorite snake, she thought with a small smile, a faint fluttering in her chest as she thought about the messy-haired boy with the roguish green eyes, and the faint beginnings of a Van Dyke growing on his face.

(snap, snap)

Fester frowned as he watched the last of the lifeboats disappear into the distance. Apparently, the North Sea was cold enough to make even the most stalwart of his new _friends_ flee the ship. Of course, that might have something to do with the _why_ that particular part of the North Sea was so cold. He looked up at the skeletal beings that circled the ship in frustration as the cruise ship continued onward, on a bee-line course for a small, obscured isle that the lifeboats were heading in the opposite direction of. The beings ragged cloaks billowed in the breeze as they tried to keep a safe distance from the foul thing on the boat, the small circle he'd carved into the deck acting as a trap of sorts for any dementors unfortunate enough to came sniffing around the boat.

"**Come on now, don't be shy! I just wanted to say hello!" **Fester said as he waved at the wraiths above his head. "**I won't bite!"**

If any of the wardens at Azkaban had seen the way the dementors swirling around the cruise ship fifty miles offshore were trying to get _away_ from the bloated ghoul on the prow of the ship, they would have immediately sought out eye-healers to make sure they weren't seeing things. The dementors began screaming in fear as the barrier keeping them contained began to shrink, drawing them ever closer to the odd clay jar fester had next to the ritual circle. Within minutes, the dementors had been sucked into the small container that was in the shape of a crudely made idol, a caricature of a shirtless black man with white face paint, wearing an open vest, top hat, ragged pair of slacks, and seemed to be chugging a bottle of rum. Fester had picked up the little bauble while in New Orleans during Mardi Gras a few decades back, in the magical side of the French Quarter. Granted, the owner of the shop had been reluctant to sell it, as even possessing a soul trap, much less one designed to capture evil spirits could land you in a MACUSA holding cell for a brief period to cool your heels before you were found guilty and executed…but, Fester reflected, the look on Grandmama Frump's face when he handed her that particular little souvenir, packed to the brim with dementors? Oh, it was going to be _priceless_.

Fester whistled darkly as he used Spello-tape, procured from one of the many dank, dark recesses of his robes, to seal up the jar, to make sure his captives didn't go free. He then noticed that the corrosive aura the dementors had generated while they were in proximity to the cruise ship had generally ruined every system onboard. He sighed. He was within fifty miles of the shores of the Isle di Ekrizdis, named after the wizard who had performed all together foul magics upon the island, then built a fortress to protect himself from the forces of the light. Said fortress became his tomb when a small boat full of sailors infected with the pneumonic plague made landfall, and sought help form the owner of the estate. After all, while some muggle diseases can't even infect the wizarding populace, the opposite cannot be said of wizarding diseases, and pneumonic plague was most certainly magical in origin.

It was not well known, but Azkaban had only ever had one escapee, and that was Fester himself. After all, most in the wizarding world had never even _heard_ of explosives, and it wasn't until _after_ the ghoulish Addams had been sent a care package by his brother Gomez, blasting caps and all, that prisoners were denied their mail. Granted, the only reason he'd even bothered (he rather enjoyed being the one the _dementors_ feared, rather than the other way around, and the dreary environs had done wonders for his asthma. He hadn't even had the affliction until he'd been exposed tot eh spores and fungi on the island) was that Gomez and Morticia's wedding was a week after the day he escaped. If the pair hadn't gotten into that silly argument during the reception, he wouldn't have spent so much time in the Caribbean studying the varied forms of folk magic practiced by the locals. He slipped the jar into his robes and smiled as he jumped overboard. It was time to go see his old digs again.

(snap, snap)

Draco watched as Potter sat with the mud…muggleborn, he corrected himself mentally, and tried to understand _exactly_ what the odd boy had tried to tell him at the Start-of-Term feast. The girl was certainly bright, if a bit…a _lot_ backwards as far as the wizarding world was concerned. That first day, she had asked Professor McGonagall _why_ they used quills instead of biros, whatever those were, and the Transfiguration mistress had rubbed the bridge of her nose, muttering something under her breath about muggleborns. She'd then gone on to explain that quills force one to consider every word one was going to say. It also helped build better manual dexterity when performing wand work. Then, the girl had received two points for Ravenclaw for asking a legitimately good question. She received another ten on the first day when she turned her matchstick into metal on the first try, at roughly the same time as Potter, and only a minute before Malfoy himself. Crabbe and Goyle, on the other hand, had only hade the damn things _sharp_ by the end of class, and had been poking each other with the business ends of their wooden "needles", laughing like a pair of idiots.

Potter's beetle had been turned into a button that displayed the Addams' Family Crest, a feat that earned him another ten points. Not to be outdone, Granger had turned her own beetle into a button that displayed the Gryffindor house crest. Draco looked at his own button, the silver and emerald coloration adorning his Slytherin crest proving that he could do more than ride his father's coattails. McGonagall had almost looked like she was sucking on a lemon when she saw his own button but gave him a genuine smile as she gave him five points like the pair closer to the front of the class.

When the bells rang, he told his "bookends" as Potter had put it, to go work on their potions homework. He knew they would likely be off picking on smaller first years in other houses, and he gave a short prayer to Loki that they would avoid Wednesday Addams. None of the third year Slytherins that had decided to pester the girl had come out of the medical ward staffed by Madame Pomphrey yet, still needing calming drafts to keep from screaming in agony as they bathed. Apparently, the little Puff was as knowledgeable about herbology as the Longbottom boy who was still mooning over the girl. She was either oblivious as to his feelings, or simply didn't care, Draco thought to himself as he walked briskly to catch up with the…muggleborn and his potential ally.

He heard Potter's sleeve hiss, and the boy flicked his wrist, the wand almost _slithering_ into his hand as he hissed back. Potter then looked over his shoulder with a small, slightly predatory smile. "Malfoy, old man! I heard Minnie praising your button! She must have looked like she bit into a citron as she awarded those five points!"

Malfoy found himself smiling despite himself as he nodded. He looked at Granger and was extremely careful to school his features as he gave her a polite nod instead of a vicious sneer. "Looked like she was going to have a stroke."

"Harry!" Granger said, gently slapping Potter on the arm, "She's a professor!" Granger said as she fought the urge to laugh as well. She looked at Draco curiously, and cautiously held out a hand. "I just wanted to say, your talents are wasted working with Crabbe and Goyle. Those two barely know which end of the wand to use." Her face scrunched up in a way that Draco had to fight the urge to think of as adorable as she looked at him in confusion. "Why do you let them weigh you down?"

Potter cleared his throat as he shook his head at Granger. "Prestation debts, ma Cherie. The Crabbe and Goyle houses are…vassals of the Malfoy house. He's responsible for making sure they get through school, and they are responsible for making sure he doesn't get bullied."

Draco rolled his eyes. "In the simplest of terms, Potter, that's true. But…" Draco looked around before giving the slightest of shrugs. "We grew up together. They've always done what I tell them to do, and it's worked out so far." Draco sighed slightly as he looked at Potter. "Potter…Harry, I know you've got this odd notion that you can fix Slytherin house, but…" He looked at Granger, "It's going to be difficult being your friend, you do understand that, don't you? Logically speaking, I know that the rhetoric I've been raised to believe is utter…" He looked around again, "Bollocks. I also know that being your friend will have certain…advantages." He looked at Granger. "I…I'll try to keep an open mind, but please, you have to understand…if my _father_ finds out…"

"That you're carousing with a _mudblood_, you might get in trouble." Granger finished for him, a slightly defeated look in her eye. She smiled sadly as she looked up at Harry and was taken aback by the look of utter _contempt_ in the boy's eye.

"Where did you hear that word?" Harry asked, his voice colder than a dementor's kiss. Draco lifted an eyebrow as Harry looked at him and shook his head. He looked back to Hermione. "I'm not particularly fond of-,"

"Don't." Hermione said as she stopped his lips with a finger. "I…I have to deal with this myself. Besides," She said with a sad smile, "If I have an Addams jump in to help me every time someone hurts my feelings, then this is going to be a long seven years. Besides," Hermione said as she reached into a beaded handbag she'd been carrying around since she'd boarded the train to Hogwarts, "Your cousin recommended a book series for me to read. It's…it's going to take some work, but I think I'll be okay." She blushed slightly as Harry took her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. She looked at Draco, and again the sad smile graced her features. "I know we won't ever really be friends, Draco…but I hope we can at least be civil."

Draco looked at Harry, closed his eyes, and nodded. "As much as my family hates muh-, er, muggleborns…I'll do my best to be civil. In public, when I'm with the other Slytherins, or my 'book ends' as you put it, Potter…I'll need to be less so. To keep up appearances." He looked her in the eye and held out his hand. "Deal?"

Hermione looked at the hand, nodded, and the pair shook hands. "Don't think our little rivalry is going to end just because we're being civil. After all, I have two of the brightest wizards in Slytherin to compete with."

Draco gave her an honest smile and nodded. "I wouldn't have it any other way, Granger."

(snap, snap)

From up above the trio, the Bloody Baron watched a pact get struck with great interest. The Malfoy family was _very_ well known for being more disdainful of muggleborn students than most of the other dark families. That Draco could be turned so far from his family ethos is just a few weeks? Nothing short of amazing. Especially since the boy just agreed to be _civil_ because of a budding friendship with the _most_ Slytherin snake in the dungeons. He rubbed his fierce mustachios in amusement as he felt another ghost watching the proceedings. He looked over his shoulder, and saw Rowena floating a few feet away. "The only way this could have been any more surreal would have been if the girl had been sorted into Gryffindor. To think, the Potter lad is already breaking down ideological walls without having to actually browbeat anyone. He simply played into Draco's desire to get the best advantage he could by being the lad's friend…even if it _will_ put him at odds with his father. My, but this will be an interesting seven years indeed."

Rowena nodded as she looked at her former lover warily. "How do you think this will end?"

The Baron shrugged. "Either Potter will usher in a bright new age of wizardry on the ashes of the old traditions he's going to sunder…or this school will be awash in the blood of those who get in his way." He scratched his chin as he looked at the ceiling. "Either way, I do believe Dumbledore is going to need more pain relief potions. That boy is going to be frustrating as Hell."

(snap, snap)

Snape sat in his office, grading papers. He was getting irritated about the sheer quantity of potions he'd needed to make for Pomphrey, as it was slowly getting in the way of his own research. He also wondered when he'd gotten in the habit of wearing jewelry, as the toe ring he discovered he'd started wearing at the beginning of the term was making his toe itch. He'd been tempted to remove the damn thing, but he just couldn't bear to take it off. Every time he wanted to take it off, which was an odd desire to have now that he thought about it, he looked at the green jade of the little trinket, and thought of Lily, of her eyes, and how that bastard potter had stolen her from him. He shook his head and went back to grading his papers. Try as he might, he could find absolutely no fault with the Potter brat's lab reports, and as such had to give him top marks. After all, the boy _was_ in his own house. He thought back to that first potions class, with the Slytherins and Gryffindors, and felt an odd sense of revulsion for the memory.

"_Ah, mister Potter, our newest…_celebrity_…tell me, what would I get if I added powdered asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"_

_The boy blinked for a moment. "Well, sir, while that wasn't in the text we were assigned to read before the start of class…you would have made yourself a rather rudimentary Draught of Living Death…but to make the potion more efficiently, you would want to add the juice of three freshly squeezed belladonna berries."_

_Snape stared at the boy in irritation. That last part was something he himself had learned from dear cousin Mo…he sneered as he continued. "And where, pray tell, would you look if I asked you to find a bezoar?"_

_Harry quirked an eyebrow. "Well, sir, if our standard potioneering kits we were required to get before the start of term didn't have one, or your own stores were out, I'd assume you could get one form the belly of a goat or other ungulate. Of course, you'd have to wait for it to dry first."_

_Snape's sneer deepened into a scowl. "Two points from Gryffindor for your cheek, Mister Potter."_

_Neville looked like he was going to protest, but Seamus Finnegan beat him to it. "He's not even in our house, yeh dungeon bat!"_

"_Two weeks detention mister Finnegan, and ten points from Gryffindor." Snape's mood improved slightly. He always did enjoy having a _legitimate_ reason to take points from the house of dullards. "Now then, _mister_ Potter, what is the difference between Monks Hood and Wolfsbane?"_

_Harry actually laughed at that one. "Well, _Professor_, I'd say there isn't one. After all, aconite does go by both names. Why don't you try a hard one, say from the seventh year book? I'm sure everybody here would love you to ask me for answers to the _entire_ Potions section of the OWLS exam."_

_Snape's face flushed in rage as the entire class began laughing loudly. Apparently, fame alone wasn't everything, the boy had to go and mock him in front of half his year. "Detention, Potter." Snape waved his hand, and the instructions on how to make a boil reducing ointment appeared on the black slate of the blackboard. _

_After the class, Potter had stayed behind. "You know, Professor, in the language of flowers…"_

"_Shut up, Potter, and leave my classroom before I ensure you get resorted into Gryffindor, where you belong."_

Snape paused as he looked at the boy's paper. On the back, the boy had written the meaning of each of the herbs he'd asked about. Asphodel, a type of lily, meant sorrow that was felt long after another's passing. Wormwood was typically used to denote a deep sorrow for someone's absence. And, as for aconite, the toxic flower was typically used as a warning of impending doom. Harry then wrote beneath it that he thanked the Professor for the condolences for his mother's death, and that he hoped the Professor's own sorrow would someday be lessened by finding someone. An inch below that, he also thanked the professor for the warning, and would be on his guard. A tear drop fell on the page, and Snape blinked, his cheek feeling slightly wet. He quietly muttered, "Five points for Slytherin."

To be continued

Author's notes: Another chapter done! This one got a little long, but I hope you all enjoyed it. Keep reading!


	8. Chapter 8

Author Notes: Hello gentle readers! Somehow, I've gotten almost 7500 views! You guys are making me think people actually like this crap. Anywho, I did promise that anybody who guessed the name correctly would get to be in the fic…and…nobody actually gave me a name. It was Poe, by the way, and the short story I pulled it from was The Tell-tale Heart. Maybe we can try again next week. Guess this one to get to be a cameo!

There was madness in any direction, at any hour. You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning...

Anywho, onward to the fic!

Disclaimer: It should be readily apparent that this is a fan work, and that I in no way, shape, nor form own, nor hold any rights, to either the work of J.K. Rowling, nor the original works of Chas Adams, or whomever currently holds the rights to his works.

Shad Nemo Freud Proudly Presents Sic Gorgiamus Allos Subjectatos Nunc

a Crossover between the worlds of Harry Potter, and the Addams Family (snap snap)

Chapter Eight: Yellow on Black

Wednesday paused, and turned to see six fourth year Slytherins standing behind her, wands drawn. Her normally placid face broke into a vicious grin. "Six Slytherin fools that want to miss their OWLs this year? I'm flattered, really. Did Harry put you up to this?"

The leader of the small gang of Slytherin thugs laughed. "Oh, but she's got stones, doesn't she? No, we're here to send a message, and your pathetic little cousin. He's already getting big for his robes, and a month hasn't passed yet. On top of that, did you really think we wouldn't retaliate for what you did to the third years three weeks ago?"

Wednesday's smile fell, replaced with a look of disappointment. "And I thought Harry cared." She cracked her neck, and flicked her wrist, the black wand sliding into her hand. A silent _nox ultima_ spell she'd learned from one of the grimoires she'd nicked from Grandmama Frump's light reading later, the entire corridor was shrouded in inky darkness. Her eyes opened, and she could still see in shades of gray, whereas her new "playmates" were frantically trying to cast _lumos_ spells, unable to see a damned thing in the enhanced darkness. She smiled darkly as she pulled one of her favorite knives from her robes, and silently _flowed_ through the toughs, her knife flashing this way and that as screams marked her passing. She ducked as several spells flew over her head, her eyes widening as one student sent a blood-boiling curse through the space she'd been standing in but a heartbeat earlier. Her knife flashed upward, taking the wand hand before she rolled past, and severed the boy's hamstrings. Three left. Her she rolled forward to avoid a stunner and severed the boy's Achilles tendon for his trouble. Two left. She saw the biggest one…Flint, if she recalled, the head of the Quidditch team. She drew and put a different knife through his instep, pinning him to the floor as she rolled, and popped up behind the last boy, kicking the back of his knees as she grabbed his hair, and pulled his head back as she placed the edge of her blade against his carotid. The spell faded as she pressed the blade a little harder to force compliance. "Then again, if Harry had sent you to _play_, I'd have actually had fun." She looked down and saw the puddle that formed under the "leader's" knees. "Let this be a lesson to you…next time I won't play nice. One of you might end up in the morgue." She deliberately nicked his neck, just deep enough to bleed, then kicked the boy in the middle of his spine, causing a jolt down his back that caused him to fall face first into his own piss. She then walked over to Flint, removed the blade, then looked him in the eye. "Good luck on Friday. You'll need it."

Wednesday then whistled a dour little tune as she skipped down the hall, her wand slipping back up her sleeve as she put her knives away.

(Snap, snap)

Hermione came into her dorm room and found it empty. She sighed heavily, and unloaded the books she'd brought from the library, getting to a little light reading to settle her nerves. She had been in the hallway from the library to the Ravenclaw tower and had seen Wednesday about to get assaulted by a small goon squad from Slytherin, only to watch as the hallway became enshrouded in inky blackness. A bare thirty seconds later, the darkness had faded, and the boys were laying on the floor, clutching their wounds, and crying out for their mothers. She had been tempted to run forward and help but noticed that Wednesday had caused the mayhem. She ran to the nearest painting and called for help before fleeing for the tower. The way Wednesday had utterly _destroyed_ the toughs had frightened her, filled her with dread…and, oddly enough, had _excited_ her. She couldn't explain it, but the sight of those boys, laying in their _pure blood_, had seemed…almost _right_. She shook her head and opened the third year Transfiguration textbook she'd gotten from the library.

Moments after she'd gotten to a part that explained why Human Transfiguration was rather dangerous (citing a case from Germany during the second world war, involving a pair of brothers who had accidentally created an Inferius when trying to resurrect their dead mother during an ill-advised ritual that had cost one boy his left arm, right leg, and his sanity…the other brother…best left unmentioned. The Elric Brother's Tragedy was a shining example of why underage magic was heavily discouraged), her roommates entered, laughing about something vapid as she closed her curtains to be left alone. The curtains flew open, and she was dragged out of her bed, and dragged in front of a mirror by her hair. "Your little dyke girlfriend isn't here to save you, Beaver." Cho whispered silkily in the girl's ear. "Can't say that I'm surprised though. You're never going to get a man with that figure of yours." She said, pulling harder on Hermione's hair. "You might get to be a fling with some mudblood like yourself someday, but no self-respecting wizard would dirty his dick with you, you ugly little bitch." Cho pulled out her wand and pressed it against Hermione's face. "Maybe I should curse your ugly face until you're no good to _anybody? _ What do you think of that, _Beaver_?"

Hermione's wand slid into her hand from its holster, a late birthday present from Harry, and a cutting curse hit Cho in the foot, causing the girl to fall to the ground, screaming in agony. The other girls let her go, and reached for their wands in their robes, only to stop as another cutter nearly scalped one of the other girls. "Leave now. Cho and I need to have a chat."

The girls looked at each other and decided baiting the girl with her wand trained on them wasn't fun anymore and fled the room despite Cho begging them to stay. Hermione used a locking spell on the door, as well as merging the wall and door into a solid surface. She then stepped on Cho's wrist as the girl feebly tried to lift her wand to curse the uppity mudblood that had cut her toes off. Hermione took the girl's wand, then grabbed a chair and sat down, her wand trained on Cho. "I've had just about enough of your bullying. You call me a mudblood, an ugly bitch…you call me _Beaverteeth_. I've had it. You've made me cry myself to sleep almost every night since I've come to Hogwarts, and I want to know _why_. If I'm supposed to be beneath your contempt, why are you picking on me? What did I ever do to you?" Hermione asked, her voice shaky as she tried to remain tough. After all, she had just committed assault on a fellow student, and _may_ have been a little too vicious.

"You made friends with Harry Potter!" Cho yelled. Hermione blinked, her shock like a neon sign on her face. Cho's face firmed up in absolute hatred. "You made friends with the savior of the wizarding world, and he _notices_ you." Cho's eyes let loose the flood of tears that had been welling up since she'd found herself at Hermione's mercy. "And, as if that wasn't bad enough, you strut around here like you're the smartest witch since bloody Morgana. The sight of you makes me sick."

Hermione lowered her wand, and _finited_ the wall, dispelling the transfiguration and unlocking the door. The door flew open, and Professor Flitwick rushed into the room, his wand drawn. Hermione dropped her wand and hung her head. "I…"

Flitwick brushed past her and examined Cho's injury. "Luckily for you miss Cho, they can be reattached pretty easily." He looked up to one of the prefects that had followed him into the room. "Get her to the infirmary. I need to talk to miss Granger."

The fifth year nodded, and levitated the wounded girl, floating her away as he left the first year's dorm room. Flitwick's face became twisted with rage. "Tell me, miss Granger, why shouldn't I have you expelled right this instant?"

Hermione felt tears slide down her face as she looked the diminutive teacher in the eye. "I…I cast a cutting curse because I was being bullied yet again by miss Cho. She…she threatened to curse me, to make me ugly…and her friends were holding me in front of the mirror." Hermione said, pointing at the mirror on the wall. Flitwick's eyes narrowed, and he cast a charm at the mirror.

"_Retro diebus_." Flitwick whispered, and the mirror seemed to rewind like a video cassette, to the moment Hermione entered the room. He watched with a dispassionate eye as he watched the girls abuse Hermione until she's clearly had enough, then watched with keen interest as Hermione transfigured two unlike materials into a solid wall. His eyebrows rose into his receding hairline, and nearly dropped his wand in shock. He finally ended the "video" and turned to look at the young woman. "Fifty points from Ravenclaw for assaulting a fellow student."

"Yes, professor-,"

"Not you, Miss Granger. What you did was in self-defense. I'll testify under Veritaserum on that account, if necessary. I meant, ten points each from the girls that assaulted you, as that's exactly what it was. If you had been a pureblood, Miss Cho would have risked a blood feud between your houses for her behavior. No, miss granger…you won't be losing points." He looked at the girl, a look of intense curiosity on his face. "How did you merge the door and wall like that? That should be _impossible_."

Hermione looked at Flitwick in confusion. "Sir?"

Flitwick shook his head. "Even Minerva…er, professor McGonagall would be stumped by this one, Miss Granger. I will be granting you a detention as a cover for what I'll actually have you do…and that will be experimentation. Do you think you can do that again?"

Hermione nodded. Flitwick laughed as he sent a silvery honey badger running from the tip of his wand after whispering a message into its ear. The ghostly ratel ran through the wall, disappearing with a small puff of mist. He looked at Hermione. "By the way, Miss Granger, 100 points to Ravenclaw."

(Snap, Snap)

Snape sat on a stool in the infirmary, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "And _none _of you saw the group of Gryffindors that did this to you?" Snape drawled as he looked over the group of badly injured fourth years. The wounds inflicted could _not_ have been inflicted with a simple cutting curse, as every single young man in the infirmary had been infected with a particularly vicious strain of magically resistant bubonic plague. If Snape weren't absolutely positive that Bellatrix LeStrange was currently rotting in a cell in Azkaban, he'd swear his students had fallen victim to one of her more playful moments. After all, none of them were dead. The boy missing his hand screamed when he awoke and was currently in a potions induced coma. The reattachment would prove difficult, but he may be able to use a wand again someday, if he ever learned to cast left-handed. Snape looked up to see Albus stroll into the medical ward, a strange look in his eye. The twinkle was missing, replaced with a rather disturbing emotion barely restrained in his eyes: Fury.

"Severus, I want you to figure out who did this. Students maimed in the school, especially those from prominent families. I'm sure the Board of Governors will just _love_ this. Do your best to convince these boys that they need to be honest and tell you everything you need to know to find the party or parties responsible. Oddly enough, there weren't any paintings in that part of the castle where the boys were found."

Severus rolled his eyes. "Will do, Albus. It may prove difficult, however, as the only one conscious is Flint, and he seems rather…shaken by what happened. It may take some time to figure out who the perpetrator is…but I will get you your answer."

Albus nodded, dismissing Severus as he grabbed a stool, and sat down at Flint's bedside, closing the shade. "Mr. Flint…can you tell me anything about what occurred in the passageway?"

Flint's brow was covered with cold sweat as he looked up at the headmaster. "I-it was so dark, s-sir…I…I couldn't tell you who she was-,"

"She?" Albus asked, his eyebrow rising fractionally. "As in, just one woman?"

Flint's eyes widened in fear, "Um, y-yes sir."

Albus' face softened as his wand slid out of his sleeve, and he placed his hand on the boy's chest, fighting the urge to run his fingers over that muscled physique on just this side of illegal. "Mr. Flint, I'm going to perform a small spell to ferret out who did this to you. With your permission?"

"Um, what kind of spell-,"

"_Legilimens._" Albus said quietly and delved into the boy's mind.

(Snap, snap)

Harry took his seat at the Slytherin Table for the Halloween feast, sitting across from Draco as they looked further up the table. Rumors had spread throughout the castle as to who the mysterious witch was that had butchered the six Slytherin fourth years in the corridor outside the library. It had been three days, and the culprit had not, as yet, been named. Flint was the only one that seemed to have fully recovered but seemed a little twitchy. The bats that hung upside down from the candles that floated over the tables fluttered occasionally, their squeaks going largely ignored by the upper years. Draco looked at Harry with a look of curiosity in his eye. "So, Potter…who do you think put the knife job on the fourth years?"

Harry laughed as he plated up some of the delicious food before him, pulling a small vial of almond-scented brown liquid form his robes, and sprinkling it liberally over his diracawl. "If I were to guess…" He leaned forward a mad smile on his face. "I do believe my cousin might have had something to do with it. After all, she _did_ take down three third years almost a month ago, right? That time, she'd been playing nice. This time? I think she was trying to prove a point." He looked over his shoulder at his cousin's table where Wednesday lifted an eyebrow in response to the unspoken question. "Okay, definitely her handiwork."

Draco's eyes widened in a small amount of fear. "She did _that_ to six fourth years?" He looked at his food and felt a little ill. "I'm glad I haven't gotten onto her bad side, then."

Harry shrugged. "She tolerates you. She knows you have to play the good little blood purist in public, but-,"

Harry's thought was cut off mid-sentence as Professor Quirrell came screaming into the hall, yelling about a troll in the dungeons. Harry felt a glacier form in his gut as he looked over to where Hermione should have been, and noted she was missing from the feast. Before Quirrell had hit the floor, Harry had bolted to the Ravenclaw table, and grabbed one of the first years from her dorm room. "Where is Hermione?"

"The mud…you mean Beaverteeth? Last I saw her, she was crying in the second-floor bathroom."

Harry seemed to vanish again, running out the still open door to the main hall as Draco ran after him, yelling for Harry to stop. Their departure seemed to go unnoticed over the general din of screaming students as the pair fled the hall, Draco only barely keeping up with the black streak with glowing green eyes. Harry ran like a man possessed; his eyes glowing brighter as he crashed through the door to the girl's bathroom. He began kicking the doors to the cubicles, pausing as Hermione opened the last one with puffy red eyes, a look of utter bemusement on her face as the handsome young man stood with his foot cocked to kick her door down. Draco bent at the waist, breathing hard as he tried to catch his breath. "H-harry?"

"Hermione! We need to get back to the main hall! There's…that smell…" Harry paused as he looked over his shoulder, and his eyes widened as he saw ten feet of stacked ugly crash through the wall to the women's loo. Right behind Draco. Harry flicked his wand, and began hissing out curses in Parseltoungue, large gouges forming in the magic-resistant hide of the cave troll, causing it to bellow in rage, raising its club to smash the annoying little wizard making it hurt. Draco rolled out of the way as curse after curse flew at the monstrous beastie, the fetid smelling blood making the bathroom floor slick as the creature's club smashed the tilework. Harry rolled away from the blow, keeping the troll's attention on him as he drew it away from Draco and Hermione. He laughed as he drew a kukri-bladed machete from the pocket of his robes, the magically enhanced pocket allowing the simple blade to slide out with ease. He rolled between the troll's legs, a particularly vicious version of the entrails expelling curse causing the troll's sex organs to burst forth from his abdomen, wrapping themselves around his wrist. The troll squealed in frightened pain as he lifted his club, his eyes crossing as Harry's machete hacked downward, severing the troll's Achilles tendon on his left before spinning around, and doing the same to the right ankle, causing the troll to fall on it's face, and further ruining it's family stones. Harry breathed heavily as he fought to remain away, jumping onto the troll's back and sinking the blade into the troll's neck, severing its spinal cord before collapsing on the floor.

Hermione was on him in an instant to check on the magically exhausted young man. Draco trained his shaking wand hand on the troll, watching its face contort in rage as it tried in vain to move. Moments later, Flitwick ran into the room followed immediately after by Professor Snape and McGonagall. Flitwick's eyes widened as he took in the carnage and looked at the three on the floor next to the downed troll. McGonagall's normally pinched face displayed her horror, and she immediately made her way over to Harry, only for her face to turn to one of irritation as the boy laughed, smoking a clove. "Mr. Potter, ten points from Slytherin for smoking."

Harry propped himself up on a shoulder, a look of confusion on his face. "Seriously, Professor? I just incapacitated your rogue troll, and the first thing you do is dock me ten points for smoking?"

Snape fought the urge to laugh at that one, a sentiment not shared by Flitwick, who let a guffaw slip through before forcing himself to school his features. Minerva's lips quirked as she fought to smile. The boy _did_ so remind her of James, after all. "Your Gryffindorish stunt notwithstanding, Potter…wait, you mean to tell me that you killed a troll single handedly?" Minerva asked, her features slipping into shocked confusion.

"Not killed. Just incapacitated. Trolls can't move if you sever their spinal cords." Harry said, taking a deep drag on his clove. "I'd recommend getting him out of the castle though…I _might _have ruined his prospects for having a lady friend any time soon."

Snape looked at the wrist Harry pointed at, and his eyes widened before he winced, feeling a certain amount of sympathetic pain in his own groin as he looked at the eviscerated gonads. McGonagall looked as well, and felt her gorge rising as she fought the urge to vomit. "Mr. Potter…what…what were you, Miss Granger, and Mister Malfoy doing in this lavatory?"

"Well, Professor, I'd heard that-," Harry began before Hermione interrupted him.

"I wanted to fight a troll." Hermione said, lifting her chin as she looked up at the Transfiguration Mistress. "After doing what I did to the wall, I figured a troll wouldn't be any trouble at all. Harry and Draco tried to talk me out of it, but I went anyways. It's my fault, professor."

Snape looked like he was going to say something but looked down as he felt Flitwick grab his pant leg and shake his head. Snape looked back to the young girl and decided to let Flitwick handle this. "Miss Granger, fifty points from Ravenclaw for foolishly seeking out a fight with a troll." Snape said, nodding at Flitwick. "As for you, Potter, Malfoy…fifty points each from Slytherin for such dunderheaded foolishness."

McGonagall looked over the downed troll, and noted the spell work necessary to bring down a fully-grown troll and rubbed her chin. "Just a moment, Severus…Mr. Potter, where did you learn the spells you used to bring down the troll?"

Harry smirked unapologetically, a light madness in his no longer glowing eyes. "Grandmama's grimoires. I could cast spells like those without my wand before I could fly a broom. The Parseltongue is the key…it lends a certain…advantage when casting certain spells. Including healing spells from India. Then again, wizards there spend years learning the language. I just have the luck of being part Addams. After all, Salazar Slytherin was the progenitor of the Addams line."

McGonagall closed her eyes for a long moment, weighing what she'd been told. "Mr. Potter, your conduct to help a schoolmate to bring down a troll would have been foolish…if you hadn't chosen your spells with care. Granted, you used some rather dark spells to bring down the troll…but I feel that 100 points for services rendered for the school wouldn't be out of question. For Slytherin."

She looked up as Albus strolled into the bathroom with a twinkle in his eye. "Quite right, Minerva…plus another fifty to Ravenclaw for trying to turn her natural skill at Transfiguration, the only true weakness trolls suffer from other than the carefully applied sword…sorry, Harry, machete to the base of the skull."

Hermione looked up at the Headmaster with surprise. "You, my dear, have a natural talent for Transfiguration that I've not seen since…" A shadow crept across his face for a brief moment, "It doesn't matter. What does is that the feast was, due to the unexpected appearance of this particular fly in the proverbial ointment, interrupted. As such, feasting has been moved to your common rooms. I expect you should be able to enjoy the rest of your Halloween before curfew." He looked at the heads of houses of the respective children. "I expect they can be given a few minutes to say good night before they head back to their common rooms, correct? Alone?"

Flitwick nodded. "Miss Granger, you have ten minutes. Then, I expect you to go back to the Tower."

Snape's face was nigh inscrutable as he nodded. "Ten minutes, Potter, Malfoy."

The heads of house left following Dumbledore as he began regaling them with a tale about the Dark War as Harry sat up, and shakily got to his feet. He waited until the teachers were out of earshot, then turned to Hermione. "Alright Hermione, spill. What did your roommates do that made you want to hide in an abandoned loo and cry?"

Hermione glared at Harry as she wiped her eyes. "It wasn't what _they_ did. I…I lost control. Cho's still in the infirmary getting her toes reattached."

Draco's brow rose as he stared at Hermione, a look of grudging admiration on his face. Harry scratched his head as he tried to figure out what she'd meant. "Did she deserve it?"

Hermione shook her head. "She pulled a wand on me…threatened to hurt me…because she was jealous. Apparently, being friends with you has made me a bit of a social pariah with some of the girls in this school, especially the purebloods. And, since I'm just a _mudblood_ _hussy_, and clearly, I'm only out to get your fortune, that I don't deserve to live. Oh, and I'm an uppity mudblood for being top of our class. And, wouldn't you know it, I happened to see what Wednesday did to those fourth years…and it scares me, Harry, but…I wished I was there with her, punishing those eight-pound water heads for being mind-numbingly stupid. I…I'm scared, Harry. I'm a twelve-year-old girl! I shouldn't be planning the evisceration of my classmates! And, you want to know the worst part? Professor Flitwick praised me for defending myself." Hermione dabbed a tissue at the corner of her eye and looked at Draco. "At least _you've_ got an excuse for hating me, seeing as your house is a Deatheater factory, but I thought that in Ravenclaw I'd at least find a kindred spirit or two among my fellow nerds. Joke's on me, I suppose."

Harry gave Hermione a hard look and nodded. "Do you know the reason why I chose Slytherin, knowing things would be difficult? I plan to save Slytherin house from itself. I plan to bring the house of snakes out of the darkness it's fallen under. I plan on making sure that no child that gets sorted into my house will ever need to worry about being ostracized for being less magical than others. But most of all," Harry's eyes glowed again as he looked her in the eyes, "I _will_ make sure that bigotry in this school dies a horrible death. And believe me, I don't care how many bodies I have to step over to make it happen. The darkness in your soul, Hermione…I felt it the moment we met. You will have to deal with it your whole life. What you need to decide, however, is _how_ you're going to use that darkness. Unlike Draco, who has to play the tough guy when he's really just a big fluffy teddy bear on the inside."

"Hey!" Draco yelled in indignation.

"What you need to ask yourself, Hermione, is whether or not you can handle the darkness. And," Harry smiled as he leaned against the wall, "how are you going to channel it?"

Hermione watched as Harry and Draco made their way out of the bathroom, Harry leaning pretty heavily against Draco as the other boy struggled to hold him up, asking him "What have you got in your pockets? Buckles?" The pair laughing as they made their way back to the dorm. Hermione mulled over what Harry had said, then nodded, and made her way back to the Tower. She was going to wear mudblood as armor, nerd as a shield, and use her intellect as a sword. The stupidity, she decided, needed to end. And at her shoulder, in her endeavors, would be Harry.

To be continued.


	9. Chapter 9

Author's note: Folks, I want to apologize. I've been very busy of late, getting my second novel ready to publish, as well as writing my fourth novel while I've been waiting for my editor to come back with her notes for book three. I've also been swamped with schoolwork, and a bad case of writer's block. I was almost ready to shelve this story for a while…and then, as if struck by a cattle prod, I received a slew of reviews from you, my loyal readers, that have given me back the joy I felt while writing this little story. I want to personally thank Stephanie MRV for giving me the shot in the arm I needed to get back into updating.

That said, I do have some bad news…

Because I will be so busy for the foreseeable future, I will _not_ be updating weekly anymore. I will be trying to keep to a bi-weekly schedule, as in addition to my original works in my first series, I have NaNoWriMo coming up, and will be writing a 60k+ novella in November (entitled Confessions of a Teenage Private Detective), one I intend to publish by February alongside a vampire anthology I've had on the back burner for a bit, The Bloodsucker Monologues.

While I won't ask you to feel the need to buy my books to keep me writing this story, I hope some of you will at least give it a look. No obligation, of course…I just would like my original work to spread to people who like dark fantasy with a splash of satire.

Alright, enough of this woe-is-me crap. Depression doesn't pay the bills!

Disclaimer: It should be readily apparent that this is a fan work, and that I in no way, shape, nor form own, nor hold any rights, to either the work of J.K. Rowling, nor the original works of Chas Adams, or whomever currently holds the rights to his works.

Shad Nemo Freud Proudly Presents Sic Gorgiamus Allos Subjectatos Nunc

a Crossover between the worlds of Harry Potter, and the Addams Family (snap snap)

Chapter Nine: Mynd you, snekk bites Kan be pretty nasti…

Harry, Hermione, and Neville sat under the shade of the whomping willow with Wednesday, the Longbottom boy looking nervously up into the boughs of the tree as Wednesday rested against the trunk. "This tree worries me." Neville said, glancing at the occasional beak or bone of the birds that foolishly tried to nest in the murderous tree. Wednesday looked him dead in the eye and shook her head.

"This tree? Neville, you'll have to come visit our estate on one of our breaks. I'll introduce you to Ichabod." She stroked the willow's bark, and the tree seemed to shudder in response, the massive boughs seeming to relax as she continued "petting" the tree. "He's a big softy compared to Ichabod."

Neville felt his pulse quicken as he caught the small smile on Wednesday's face. "Um…I…I'd have to ask Gran first…she…she worries about me, after what happened to my mum and da." He looked over at Harry and Hermione, who were sitting a little closer together than would have been considered strictly proper. He decided not to comment on it, as they seemed to be simply enjoying each other's company. Harry looked at Neville, and a slight bit of madness seemed to creep into the Potter scion's eye as he smiled impishly at Neville.

"So, Neville old man, just what's been the gossip in Gryffindor house? I know the rumor mill has been exaggerating our exploits of late, but I was wondering what kind of follies your esteemed prankster twins have been getting up to."

Neville's face scrunched up in thought. "Well…Ron told me that his brothers have been sneaking off around the castle at night, looking for a proper place to work on their…side business…and that they decided to go investigate the third floor corridor on a lark…and they said that they found something…horrific on the third floor. A, uh, hellhound. One with glowing eyes, and three heads…but I'm sure that was just one of their stories. They tend to embellish a bit about their adventures." He smiled faintly. "Not like the weirdness that seems to follow you three around like a bad smell."

Harry's eyes lit up like he'd just found out _every_ day was going to be Halloween from now on. "Hellhound, you say?"

Wednesday's small smile grew as she reached out and grabbed Neville's hand. "In the third-floor corridor, you say?"

Hermione raised a finger to forestall any further madness on the part of the Addamses. "Not to be a right stick in the mud, but you _do_ realize the corridor is off limits?"

Harry and Wednesday both turned to her, a matching look of madness seeping into their features. "Only if we don't want to potentially suffer an agonizing, horrifically nightmarish death!" Harry chuckled as he looked at his cousin. "What do you say, old girl? This almost sounds like it'll be as much fun as the time we used Grandmama's cauldron as a hot tub when we were five!"

Wednesday nodded. "But I doubt we'll get a terrible rash afterwards."

Harry shrugged. "Can't have everything."

(snap, snap)

Sirius Black shifted out of his canine form as he heard footsteps approaching. The guards would, once a day, come by to drop off the meagre rations the inmates of Azkaban had to look forward to, just enough thin gruel and dry, stale bread to keep them alive. Normally, this would be accompanied by a temporary relief from the Dementors that wandered the halls of the maximum security wing, but lately…well, ever since that _Addams_ was locked back up in his old cell, the Dementors had, oddly enough, avoided the entire corridor like it was full of patroni, Patronuses? Sirius shook his head. Whichever the plural form of the Patronus charm was. It meant that he didn't _have_ to remain in his canine form, which oddly enough kept the corrosive depression the Dementors exuded away, but he still enjoyed being in his dog form. It allowed him to think less deeply, and allowed him to feel less grief, in his opinion, than he did when human.

While he had not, as the papers put it, helped that snake-faced bastard Voldemort, he might as well have done so. That…that…_rat_…Pettigrew was the real traitor…but Sirius still lamented his unwitting part in the deaths of his best friend James, his delightful (if sharp tongued, and lethally capable duelist) wife Lily…he hoped Harry was doing well. He hoped the boy was living in a loving home, and not with those…_people_ on Lily's side of the family. The Dursleys were the worst sort, in his opinion, and he prayed that _anyone_ else in the family had taken him in, even the Addamses.

The dog-flap sized shutter opened, and his bowl was filled with his usual gruel and a lump of nasty bread. He crept forward, and took the food, then the shutter closed. He sat back against his favorite spot on the wall and sipped his gruel as he pondered his godson's life. A few minutes later, that blasted Addams idiot began howling again, screaming like a man possessed, in the cell next to his.

"Fester! Shut up!" Sirius yelled as he removed one of the slats from his bed and thumped it against the wall. This caused the wailing to stop for a moment, only to start again once the insane witch two doors down, his cousin Bellatrix, began cackling madly, spurring Fester to begin his horrid wailing again. Sirius put the plank back and plugged his ears. He'd planned an escape some years back, and had the plan firmly in his mind, if that filthy rat ever showed his face again. Perhaps the return of Fester Addams to Azkaban would prove a more immediate reason to flee. At least, he thought to himself, Rookwood on his other side kept silent, whatever his other faults.

(snap, snap)

Draco rolled over to look at the form of Harry slipping out of bed. "Potter…what manner of idiocy are you up to at this time of night?"

Harry froze, then looked back at Draco. "Ah…would you believe me if I told you I have an appointment with a girl in a broom closet in twenty minutes for some serious necking?"

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose as before he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "Seeing as the only girl you _would_ be, ahem, 'necking' with would be Granger…no, I wouldn't believe you." Draco stared blearily at his friend as he sat up, swinging his legs over the side of his bed. "So, pull the other one, it's got bells on it. Seriously, what fool notion has you-,"

"Third floor corridor has a Hellhound."

Draco paused, tilted his head with his eyes scrunched tightly closed, and facepalmed, rubbing his temples. "A…Hellhound."

"It's got three heads!" Harry said, his voice rising slightly in excitement as he slipped into his trousers and threw on one of his robes. "An honest to Loki _Canis infernae cerber!_ If you think I'm going to miss seeing one of those, you've, oh what's the term you brits use, 'lost the pot'?"

Draco glared at Harry through splayed fingers. "Lost the plot. But you can't be serious. If there were one on school grounds-,"

"Weasley twins saw it when they were scoping out a new place to set up shop. Apparently, Filch found the lab they'd been using in the second-floor girl's bathroom."

"IF there were one on school grounds, my father would have kittens. He's always wanted one but importing class V dark creatures into Britain is difficult, expensive, and gets the wrong kind of attention. _Smuggling_ them is, ironically, even harder. So, if there's an actual Cerberus on campus, I rather think we should _not_ go poking around its lair. You know, because death."

"Oh, come on now old man! Where's your sense of adventure?"

Draco grimaced. "Still sleeping off the last damned fool thing we did. That troll could have killed all three of us." He paused, then stroked his chin. "On the other hand, you _did_ almost _kill_ that troll single handedly…" Draco saw Harry digging around in his trunk and produced a pair of matte-black .45 ACP single stacked 1911's, as well as a double holster. Draco's eyes bugged out as he saw Harry slip the belt on after lifting his robes, and also begin strapping on various over implements of death. "Are you mental?! Do you know what the charge is for carrying firearms in wizarding Britain?"

"Special dispensation. Even Dumbles couldn't legally take these from me if he wanted to. After all, I _am_ the Boy…Who…Lived…" Harry fought the urge to begin cackling madly. Draco watched the madness unfold as Harry giggled under his breath, leaving the dorm and down the stairs.

"It was just a bad dream. I didn't see Harry getting himself ready to go murder a Class V dark creature, no I most certainly did not." Draco muttered as he laid back down in bed. He repeated the mantra as he closed the curtains, deciding that it would help him sleep better After all, he _had_ grown to like the Potter boy. He'd hate to think he might have done something to keep the boy from getting himself killed in the most foolish, idiotic…fun…" Damn it, Potter!" Draco hissed, swinging his legs out from under the covers, and quickly got dressed. "I can't believe I've let myself be talked into this. That idiot is a bad influence!"

(snap, snap)

Hermione muttered similar imprecations under her breath as she stole her way through the corridors, trying to remain as silent as possible as she made her way to the junction in the third-floor corridor that Harry ad Wednesday had agreed to meet up at. Wednesday was already there, staring out the window at the Whomping Willow below in the moonlight. A half a meter away sat Neville, who looked far more nervous than even the first day of potions with Snape. Finally, Harry strolled up, whistling a jaunty tune that reminded Hermione of the Ride of the Valkyries by Wagner, with a breathless Draco hot on his heels.

Wednesday looked at Harry and rolled her eyes. "You didn't bring your guns, did you?"

Harry stopped whistling and gave Wednesday a coy little smile as he lit a clove. "I have _no_ idea what you're talking about, cousin."

Wednesday stared unblinking at Harry for a long moment. "So, you did bring them with. You're an idiot. Well, let's get to it."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Why so glum, cousin? I'd have thought you'd still be ecstatic about coming face to face with a real live Cerberus."

She nodded. "Oh, I am…but, I have to wonder, if it _is_ and actual Cerberus…what is it doing in this school?"

Draco threw his hands up in the air. "THANK you! I tried to tell you that, Potter!"

Harry smirked smugly at Draco, "You still came along to see, though."

Draco raised a finger to interject, realized he didn't have anything to say to that, then crossed his arms. "Sod off, Potter."

Neville looked down the way Harry had come. "Y-you haven't seen Filch, have you?"

Harry shook his head with a smile. "I doubt he'll be making his rounds tonight. He got a package in the mail today, a box of cookies. Cookies that may or may not have been dosed with a mild…hallucinogen…"

(snap, snap…some hours earlier)

Filch opened his box of cookies…the box had no return address, but…the cookies were just so very _fresh_. He greedily devoured the whole box, then noticed that things…were just plain…great. Well, aside from the eyes that had suddenly opened on the ceiling. And the doorknob had turned into a very large, very flaccid penis. And Mrs. Norris had somehow become a small black dragon without teeth that flew around the room, spouting heatless fire.

Everything had become terrifying by the third perceived hour, when the candelabra began singing songs from a muggle musical while the fire poker sang with it, in harmony, the handle developing an odd white mask and a rather dashing cape. The fireplace laughed darkly as imps played soccer in the ash-trap, with a pair of toads announcing the game, standing on their hind legs with their forelegs above their heads, screaming "Goal!" whenever one side or the other kicked the ball into their opponent's net.

Mrs. Norris watched as her favorite human drooled on himself as his eyes spun around and around in their sockets like a top, occasionally bellowing some oddity or another she couldn't decipher (being a cat). She sniffed the box and decided to try some of the crumbs at the bottom. Within moments, she was chasing invisible mice around the room whenever she wasn't hiding under the bed because everything was screaming at her.

(snap, snap…now, I suppose)

"…I just hope that he buckled his seatbelt…because he's going for a _ride_." Harry said with an almost sinister gleam in his eye. Hermione looked at Harry in absolute shock.

"You…you drugged one of our teachers?"

Harry looked at Hermione incredulously. "Of course not. What kind of idiot do you think I am? I would _never_ drug a teacher." Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. "The Janitor, on the other hand…"

"Harry!" Hermione hissed angrily. "Are you _trying_ to get yourself expelled?"

Harry gave her a "Who, me?" look, the innocent smile ruined by the clove cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth. Her glare, having not diminished, finally banished the idiotic grin from his face. "Look, it should wear off in a couple of hours. Unless…well, unless he ate the whole box…But, nobody likes Filch, anyways, so who cares? Now then, speaking of things that will likely get us killed, or worse, _expelled." _Harry winked at Hermione, "…This way?" Harry asked Neville, pointing down the hallway. Neville swallowed, and nodded. Harry slid his hands into his pockets, and began walking down the corridor, once again whistling Ride of the Valkyries.

When the group got to the door, Harry noted that it was locked. "Hmm…locked. What would Fester do at a time like this?" Harry said as he reached into his pocket, and Wednesday grabbed his hand.

"C-4?"

Harry shook his head. "No, cousin, even I'm not that crazy. At least, not for a trip like tonight." He withdrew a stethoscope and a set of lockpicks. Before he could begin fiddling with the lock, Hermione pulled out her wand, and whispered _Alohomora_, and the door clicked, the lock undone. Harry looked up at Hermione with a sly smile. "Fifth year spells, Hermione? I _could_ have cast that myself, you know…lock picks are just more fun, and take a certain level of skill." He pushed the door open and saw three pairs of eyes open in the gloom. Glowing eyes. Glowing eyes that rose as mouths opened, and the faint smell of brimstone wafted out of the room. "Huh. Cerberus. No kidding." He then grabbed the door, and pulled it shut just before the first gout of flame flew out of the middle head's mouth. He looked at Draco and Hermione. "Oh, _nobody_ would be _crazy _enough to bring a Class V dark creature into Hogwarts!" He began walking faster down the corridor as the sound of massive paws scratching at the door echoed down the corridor. "It's almost _impossible_ to get one into Britain!"

"Oh, shut up!" Draco and Hermione yelled before they blinked, looked at each other, shrugged, then followed the Potter scion. Wednesday shook her head as Neville hurried to catch up, his stubbier legs making the attempt far more difficult. They were almost back to the junction when they heard the loud clop of a pair of familiar boots, and the five quickly ducked into a room to hide from the rapidly approaching pair of Professors Snape and McGonagall. Hermione quietly cast _Colloportis_ on the door, locking it after the professors had passed, and they looked around the room. The room was one of the many abandoned classrooms at Hogwarts, and in the center of the room was a massive, cloth covered rectangle. Harry crept forward towards the mirror and cast off the cloth obscuring it's surface. He immediately saw…his family. Not the Addamses, although they were in the picture as well, but…His mother and father…and they stood just behind Harry, smiling at him. He reached out and felt the glass of the mirror's surface.

A muffled feminine scream from behind Harry drew his attention to Draco, whose eyes were wide with terror. In the picture he saw were his parents, his Aunt Bella in a set of white robes with a cheerful, _sane_ look in her eye…and…and…" That's…that's not possible…"

Harry looked at Draco, then back to the mirror. "What do you see?"

Draco shook his head, and backed away from the mirror, horrified at the image reflected at him. Because, in the mirror…he saw…

(snap, snap…five years prior)

Draco giggled as he ran away from his "friends". Especially the black-haired child he'd only met that day. A pretty little girl with the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. The girl had wandered into the secluded glade, one with notice-me-not wards surrounding the border, a small refuge for magical children to play in away from muggles. The girl wore odd clothes, to be sure, with pictures of a cat and mouse on the front of her shirt, and a pink skirt. He'd thought nothing of the fact that the little girl was there, as only magical children could even enter the small meadow. After ten minutes of playing tag, however, Crabbe Sr. had apparently spied the girl, who was clearly a muggleborn, and had told the child her mother was looking for her. Uncle Crabbe took the girl away, further into the woods.

Draco had discovered that he needed to wee, so he went into the woods as well, seeking a tree. What he saw, however, was Uncle Vinny…Uncle Vinny's trousers were down, and…and…

(snap, snap)

Draco's eyes were wide with terror as he saw the black-haired little girl smiling and waving at him, holding his hand in the mirror. A girl that…tears began sliding down his face as he realized what he'd seen. Crabbe Sr. was responsible for the disappearance and…the Prophet, had Draco read the paper when he was that young, had mentioned the grisly dismemberment and disposal of a small girl from a muggleborn family that lived nearby. He would have known that the girl had been violated before her death, and that her eyes had been missing, but the killer was still at large. Draco looked up as he felt a hand shake his shoulder. "Draco!" Harry hissed. "What did you see?"

"It's not important." Draco murmured. "I…I just remembered something I made myself forget; I suppose…suppressed…I have a letter to write to my father tomorrow. That mirror…it's horrible."

Neville nodded. "It's not fair to show us things we can't have." Neville said as tears of his own slid down his face. In the mirror, he saw his mum and da, his gran smiling, and…Wednesday on his arm as he held the House cup in one hand, and the Sword of Gryffindor in the other. "We should get out of here."

The door to the room opened, and they turned in fright. Dumbledore stood in the doorway and put his wand away. "Five points to Ravenclaw, Miss Granger. At least, I assume you're the one who locked a door without a keyhole. Ah! I see you've all discovered the Mirror of Erised. I do hope none of you saw something…terrible in the mirror. If you read the inscription around the frame, you'll quickly discover why the mirror is so dangerous."

Draco nodded. "'Erised stra ehru cafru oyt on wohsi…I show not your face but your heart's desire'. It's a Class III cursed artifact, only because if you aren't strong willed, you might die staring at it…as you waste away, unwilling to leave the damned thing." He realized what he said and had the decency to look embarrassed. "Er, sorry headmaster."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Quite on the contrary, Mister Malfoy, I think _damned_ is an apt description for such a mirror. I won't ask you what you each saw in it, so long as you all decide to get back to your beds. Someone tried to go into the room that's guarded by a Cerberus, if the rumors about the third-floor corridor are true." Dumbledore winked, "And I would hate for anyone to think you five might have been responsible. Oh, and Five points to Slytherin, Mister Malfoy, for your no doubt _academic_ knowledge of dark artifacts."

(snap, snap)

Fester awoke from a rather pleasant nightmare and stretched as he smacked his lips. Food, or rather, the starvation rations this place gave, were nice and all, but he felt hungry for something…_else_. He coughed up a lockpick and decided to go check on the "pantry". He opened the door, and slipped out, chuckling darkly as he made his way to the other end of the corridor. He knocked on one of the doors, and spoke in a harsh, gruff voice. "Alright, LeStrange, you've a visitor." He picked the lock on the door, then swung it open, revealing the emaciated form of Rodolphus LeStrange.

"Hey!" He yelled feebly, "You're not one of the guards!"

"No," Fester said, his mouth stretching into an impossibly wide grin, "I'm not."

Rodolphus LeStrange screamed as Fester walked into his cell and closed the door. The sound of a short scuffle proceeded the sound of a neck breaking, and the sound of something being chewed by inhumanly strong jaws, the sound of bones being crushed as flesh was slurped off bones. The prisoners in the rooms adjoining his lay in silent terror as they heard a man get eaten, bones and all in the next cell. A loud burp, and the sound of a door swinging open again.

Fester used a sleeve to wipe away the blood that liberally coated the lower half of his face. "Hmm…I guess that old saw about 'you are what you eat' is bullshit." Fester chuckled as he leisurely strolled back to his cell. "Because Deatheaters taste like pork."

(snap, snap)

The next morning, Neville ran over to the Slytherin table with a copy of the Prophet in hand. Some of the older Slytherins looked like they were about to object, but Flint shook his head, whispering about the dangers of angering an Addams. At the Hufflepuff table, Wednesday smiled. Her "charm offensive" had already borne fruit. "Harry! Did you see…"

Harry nodded. "Page five. Small print, barely a two liner. I tell you, old man, the day the arrest of an Addams doesn't make the front page? Absolutely shameful. I think we might, as a family, be losing our touch."

Neville looked confused, then turned to page five, and saw that the Ghoul of Azkaban had been arrested trying to get back into the prison. He shook his head, 'No, Harry! Look! One of the LeStranges was…killed in his cell! The warden is launching a full investigation to figure out who did it."

Harry chuckled. 'Odd that." He looked over his shoulder, "Wednesday! Uncle Fester's back in Azkaban!"

Without looking over her shoulder, she held up her own paper. "I know. Page five. Should have made the front page."

Neville's smile was accompanied by tears as one of the men responsible for his parents' condition had been brutally murdered. He paused as he thought about what he'd just thought…perhaps he _had_ been spending too much time around the Addamses.

To Be Continued

Author's notes: This chapter got a little odd, a little dark, and a little…cannibalistic.

You know the drill. Review if you liked it, or even if you didn't.

See you in two weeks!


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